


Astoria Greengrass and the Haunt of Azkaban

by PerfidiouslySnatching



Series: Astoria of Slytherin [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: "we want the death eater back" says the student body when Umbridge shows up, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Astronomy, Azkaban, Azkaban Breakout, Ballroom Dancing, Banquets, Best Friends, Bigotry & Prejudice, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Christmas Party, Concerts, Crushes, Dementor's Kiss, Dementors, Disapproving Family, Drama & Romance, F/F, F/M, French heritage, Frenemies to Friends, Good Slytherins, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Knockturn Alley, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, Lucius Malfoy's Arrest, Moodypocalypse, Muggle-born Slytherin, Music, Pining, Self-Doubt, Slow Burn, Waltzing, indirect self harm (book 2 ch 17), trigger warning for Umbridge's revenant quill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 132,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22608943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfidiouslySnatching/pseuds/PerfidiouslySnatching
Summary: Draco couldn't imagine a world in which he wouldn't care what his family thought. If that worlddidexist somewhere, it existed right here. It existed right here with Astoria's arms over his shoulders.--Sequel toAstoria Greengrass and the Muggle-Born Slytherin.--Astoria thought she had adjusted to life at Hogwarts when Dolores Umbridge showed up. Having not been invited to Dumbledore's Army, Astoria keeps up to speed practising spells in the Astronomy Tower library. But the usual haunt of the tower, Professor Sinistra, is often nowhere to be found. It's no easy mystery to solve in the daily stressors of life, especially when her best friend Rhiannon, her sweetheart Philippe, and her "frenemy" Draco Malfoy are all acting bizarrely around her. Having been sheltered her whole life, Astoria doesn't always grasp the political climate. However, she soon figures out just how far Azkaban's reach can be.*Seriesupdate schedule:Saturdays
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass & Aurora Sinistra, Astoria Greengrass & Draco Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass & Original Female Character(s), Astoria Greengrass & Theodore Nott, Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Aurora Sinistra & Severus Snape, Bartemius Crouch Jr. & Aurora Sinistra, Bartemius Crouch Jr. & Original Female Character(s), Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott
Series: Astoria of Slytherin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1462606
Comments: 21
Kudos: 44





	1. Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter One - "Rock Star" by Hole
> 
> I tried to stay close to the Books 1-7 canon. Perhaps a "canon companion" more so than "canon compliant."

Warm July breezes swept a variety of litter across the streets of east Whitechapel. Rhiannon Clarke noticed that the rubbish near the music shop was mostly beer cans in the summer; in winter, she remembered, cigarette butts largely outnumbered the beer. She had been out walking all morning, sporting a long-sleeved shirt in hot weather. Rhiannon was a Muggle-born witch, the child of Jessica Limmen and the missing Geoffrey Clarke, a pair that had their names written in police records multiple times. Rhiannon no longer had to worry about her violent father; he ran away not long after attacking her when she turned eleven and received her Hogwarts acceptance letter. After that, Jessica became even crueller. Unlike Geoffrey, Jessica figured out that it was illegal for Rhiannon to use magic outside of school until she turned seventeen. Jessica feared no retaliation, and the new bruises on Rhiannon’s face showed it.

Rhiannon was not a regular customer at P.R.’s Music Shop, but she was definitely a regular visitor. From her flat, there were four routes to the shop, and Rhiannon checked her broken piece of Foe-Glass before deciding on which route to take. The magical sliver of glass projected images of its owner’s enemies which became clearer or hazier based on how much of a threat those enemies were. Since the previous owner of the Foe-Glass was permanently vegetative, the glass worked well for Rhiannon, and she used it to navigate her area safely. Rhiannon figured that if it became necessary, the piece of magical glass could double as a Muggle weapon.

A dud of a bell that should have chimed when Rhiannon walked in P.R.’s door instead smacked her on the ear.

“Update your security system, mate,” she called to the back room.

Parker “P.R.” Ryne showed himself in all of his grandeur –– he wore a stained black T-shirt of the finest poly-cotton, blue jeans that could lose a leg if the grand hole in them were to get caught on something, and a long brown ponytail with the texture of Severus Snape’s hair.

“Oi, Rhi Clarke’s back from bad girl school!”

P.R. was Rhiannon’s favourite Muggle acquaintance; he was the twenty-five-year-old entrepreneur who gave her a ragged, 1962 Fender Jaguar with a sketchy sale history in exchange for doing his household chores. The rest of his business was cleaner, and it was uncommon to see his shop empty. Rhiannon and P.R. had a deal in which he would let her open and play any album in the shop over the speakers as long as she did all of the cleaning in the summer. She explained her absence from Whitechapel during the other seasons by telling him that she had to attend a “reform school” up north; she was sworn to silence about anything magical in the presence of Muggles.

“What’d I miss?”

Moseying toward the “new releases” shelf, P.R. handed Rhiannon copies of _Foo Fighters_ and _Jagged Little Pill_.

“I’d say check that shelf more later, but these ones are selling fast,” P.R. said, walking to his best-seller rack on which the two albums Rhiannon was holding would find themselves in the near future.

“Pink Floyd’s got their live album out, too,” he said in search of _Pulse_.

“I’d rather hear _The Division Bell_ , P.R. I didn’t get to it last summer.”

“Don’t like live versions? Well, _Division Bell_ was recorded on a boat. Ah, don’t let me fool you, it don’t sound like it was.”

“A boat?”

“Yeah, yeah! Gilmour’s boat, the _Astoria_. ’Member they made ’87 one on it? Never know what new place someone’ll turn into a recording studio.”

Rhiannon laughed at the boat’s name more than at the fact that Pink Floyd recorded music on it. Her best friend’s name was Astoria Greengrass –– a name Rhiannon knew would not be found on a Muggle’s birth certificate. Pure-blood wizards had some of the craziest names; Rhiannon’s best laughs came from names like Ginevra, Salazar, Ansel, Sofronia, and Draco.

Rhiannon started playing Pink Floyd’s _The Division Bell_ to make her chore of sweeping bearable. Her own album, _Fed Lines_ , was released not three days ago, but she had not been sent a copy yet. It really couldn’t be called an album; it was a ten-track, hastily done flop in the real world. But the Wizards didn’t have effortful production. They just waved their wands to make shite sound nicer and called it an album. It was a little more than disenchanting to have to try to play the songs to sound the way they had been mixed.

After cleaning at P.R.’s, Rhiannon walked back to her flat without reluctance, since she knew from the fog in the Foe-Glass that Jessica was not there. After passing numerous bazaars, Rhiannon opened the thigh-high gate in front of her flat that served no purpose other than to trap litter underneath of the bars. She walked into the crummy little place she could not call a home and into her bedroom to see nothing more than a mattress on the floor, a chest of drawers, and a lamp. She had a mirror, but she kept it facing away. Every time she had looked in the mirror, her eyes were drawn to her chubby right arm that had one of the ugliest scars she had ever seen. A basilisk owned by the founder of the very House in Hogwarts that Rhiannon belonged to had attempted to kill her because she was born to Muggles.

Rhiannon lay down on her mattress and followed the cracks in the ceiling with a pointed finger. Summer in the Muggle world was lacklustre, but the glow of the Wizarding world was always tarnished by the people who wanted her to leave it. But Rhiannon was one to count her blessings: she had made some real friends at Hogwarts at last. Three of those real friends were in her band, a band that was nothing more than a dream before. Though Rhiannon had wanted to do it the hard, honest way, Astoria had made the band possible with her family’s money. Even if it often felt like they didn’t earn their record deal, the band Pariah was a symbol of progress in Rhiannon’s life. Rhiannon had been told by her favourite professor that she herself was progress, since she was the very first Muggle-born in history to be sorted into the House of Slytherin at Hogwarts. She decided that Pariah’s music should address the issues she faced daily. Merely being present in the Slytherin common room was not exposing what it was like there.

When Rhiannon got hungry, she went into the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal. It was there that she saw a large shadow outside the front window. Frightened at first, she stepped backward into a chair before she saw that it was a plump shadow with wings. Deciding not to bother with the rusted lock on the window, Rhiannon opened the door to let the owl in. It was Twinkles, Astoria’s owl, carrying a small package. Rhiannon’s face lit up. There in the box was a wizard cassette –– her album released at last. The cover of the album had pictures of the band members as children; all of the photos were moving like a videotape except for Rhiannon’s, which had been taken with P.R.’s Kodak and not a wizard camera. The other side of the album case had the list of songs:–

  1. Genesis
  2. The Pariah
  3. Saccharine
  4. Useless
  5. The Things Unsaid
  6. Sweet Nothings
  7. Ivy
  8. Underbelly
  9. Blood Panel
  10. Father



There were over a dozen songs that the band had written that did not appear on that album, but Rhiannon knew that was the way things went. Mostly, she was happy with the choices. Smiling to herself, she opened the letter that was sent along with the cassette. Astoria’s smooth calligraphy was a welcome sight.

_Dear Rhiannon,_

_I listened to the album, and it is better than I could have imagined. Mr Mongaby has informed me that sales are “disappointing,” which is Mongabian for “slowly but steadily climbing.” Believe me, all of our hard work is being appreciated. There is more coverage in the entertainment realm of the news than I expected. Flora and Hestia have received copies of the record as well. They wrote to me, and they can at last agree on something: they love it! I know that you will enjoy it, too. I cannot wait to hear from you!_

_Sincerely,_

_Astoria_

Rhiannon was ecstatic. By the end of the month, she would be getting a royalty cheque, and witches and wizards from across the country would be listening to her music. She found a pen and some notebook paper to reply to Astoria. Her handwriting wasn’t pretty; she wished Astoria was there so she could tell her face-to-face.

_Dear Astoria,_

_Thank you for sending it to me! I can’t wait to listen to it. I hope you have a great summer. Tell the twins I said hello. Thank you for being in this band_ –– _you’ve no idea what it means to me._

_Love, Rhiannon. x_

~

Astoria put down the letter from Rhiannon and sighed. She wished her friends were with her. She wanted to invite Rhiannon for a visit but had decided against it. Rhiannon’s mother would probably be furious if Rhiannon met with her “coven,” and Astoria was not quite ready to have Rhiannon see Quennell Park yet. Astoria lived in a vast mansion that she feared would make Rhiannon envious and unhappy. She did send an invitation to the Carrow sisters, but they declined, for their father was “freakishly protective,” as Hestia said, and “under a lot of strain,” according to Flora.

The weeks passed slowly for Astoria. She would play lazy melodies on her grand piano, go for walks round the estate in search of the resident ghost, read with her parents in the library, and have an occasional chat with her older sister, Daphne. Her favourite thing to do, though, was stand on her balcony with her telescope and study the stars. She often tested herself to see if she could find and remember the names of the stars and constellations in a certain amount of time. Her love of astronomy proved to be beneficial: Astoria would be taking her Astronomy O.W.L. during the upcoming school year at the age of fourteen. It worried her more than that which was imaginable, for it was a pass or fail ticket to her future. She wanted to be an astronomer. There was no other option.

On a night when no clouds crept across the sky, Astoria was on her balcony looking at the stars. The air was warm and full of nature’s aromas, and Astoria’s parents and sister were enjoying the weather in the garden area below, barely visible in the gentle lamplight. Astoria moved from her telescope and reclined on her deck chair, looking upward and trying to stretch the muscles in her neck. She stared at the sky and laughed to herself as she thought about how differently the disinterested enjoyed the painted night. Nothing was technical; they envisioned no quadrants, the stars were merely glitter, and a constellation was rarely identified. Even stars and planets would be mistaken for one another. For Astoria, the sky was a moving map rather than a canvas splashed randomly with light paints. Its capital cities were beautiful but unreachable, but Astoria would not have gone into space if she could. She had read all about Muggle astronomy. To them, outer space was full of litter, rocks, fire, and fear. People had lost their lives venturing through it. But that was not the outer space Astoria knew. Outer space was always night, a world of reflection and slumber, a force of nature which she could feel through her own magic. It was quiet and weightless rather than voiceless and abyssal. It was the network of the Earth, and somewhere in the threads was Heaven.

Astoria’s eyes involuntarily connected the summer stars. Directly above the Earth during the warmest months was the constellation Draco. It unfortunately made it very difficult not to think about Draco Malfoy each time she saw it. Draco was a year above Astoria in school and two years older. He had a strong prejudice against Muggle-borns and an ego even stronger. His family was not as wealthy as the Greengrasses were, though he acted more concerned about wealth than Astoria did.

She had met Draco the previous year on the Hogwarts Express, and, at first, she fancied him. That lasted less than a minute, as Draco revealed himself to be anything but desirable. In fact, the only person who seemed to consider Draco Malfoy a prize was Pansy Parkinson. The veracity of her feelings was doubtful; she seemed to be interested mainly in his looks, wealth, and “bad boy” deportment. Astoria, conversely, saw him more as the product of a mixture of seclusion, coddling, and pure-blood supremacism. She had experienced her fair share of seclusion and coddling herself, but she differed from Draco in that her family was considered to be “blood-traitorous.” That, Astoria reasoned, had made the significant difference in her and Draco’s respective quality of life, with hers, of course, being much higher. And her friendships were consequently much truer.

Well after the forty-two seconds of attraction to Draco Malfoy that occurred the previous September, Astoria met a student visiting from Beauxbatons Academy named Philippe Boisvert. He was a close friend of her cousin Zéphir Ciel; both boys had been in England for the Triwizard Tournament. The Tournament was the focal point of all discussions the last school year, and it would remain in discussions for years to come due to the death of one of the Champions, Cedric Diggory. His death in itself terrified Astoria, but the murderer was another story…

Astoria went inside, walked to her writing desk, and opened one of the top drawers. Philippe had written to her one… two… three… four times. Astoria was going to wear down the edges of the envelopes from flipping through them. She did not need to open the letters to smile, but to touch them and feel the reality of them was enough to make her heart beat faster. Philippe always wrote to her in French. His voice was less gritty in his native tongue; Astoria tried to imagine the sound. Remarks like “ _I keep thinking about you_ ” and “ _I wish that you were with me_ ” tended to cross her mind more often than “ _I_ _hope you are enjoying your summer break_ ” and “ _I am excited to buy your album_.”

On Pariah’s début album, Astoria had written the song “Sweet Nothings” about Philippe without the other band members knowing. Philippe probably would not know it was about him specifically, either, as the song was somewhat generic, but she hoped that he would like it nonetheless.

The single of “Sweet Nothings” was to be released in late August. Even though the album was selling decently, Astoria was a bit self-conscious about the song and wondered how high the sales of the single would be. Songs with more personal meaning were difficult for her to sing comfortably. Astoria was more reserved about such matters, whilst her best friend Rhiannon had several personal songs that she performed at ease, such as “The Pariah,” “Useless,” and “Father.” Astoria knew that “The Pariah” was about being a Muggle-born in the House of Slytherin. “Father” was a poignant song about Rhiannon’s destroyed relationship with her abusive dad. Astoria was not sure about the exact origin of “Useless.” All that Rhiannon had said was that it was about liking someone who did not return her feelings, but Astoria deemed it best not to ask about a touchy subject. So far, “Useless” was the only song that Draco had heard them play; Astoria was concerned that if Rhiannon kept publishing her feelings, obnoxious people like him would use her own songs against her.

The end of July brought in Astoria’s royalty cheque from the album. Astoria was eating a sweet breakfast when her father handed her the cheque, and she had trouble swallowing her chocolatine after looking at the amount.

“Ninety Galleons!” she exclaimed, pushing her food aside.

“What are you on about? That’s hardly anything,” Daphne said crankily.

“The album’s only been out a few weeks!” Astoria said.

“That’s not many sales, though,” her sister argued, “if you actually do the maths.”

Daphne was not the nicest person in the morning. Then again, she wasn’t the nicest person during any other hour of the day, either.

Daphne really did not know about Pariah; she only knew she didn’t like it because Astoria could become more popular than she was through the band. Astoria removed herself from her sister’s presence and hurried to her room to write a letter to Rhiannon about the earnings. All of Rhiannon’s cheques were sent directly to her Gringotts vault until Rhiannon could pick it up. Rhiannon organised it this way so her mother would not take her money and try to pay her “dealers” with Wizarding cheques.

Astoria always grimaced at the thought of her friend’s life in the Muggle world, and she wrote the letter with such vigour that her writing became sloppy.

_Dear Rhiannon,_

_I received the first royalty cheque. You will be happy to know that it is for ninety Galleons. That indicates three-hundred sales according to our contract, and it has only been three weeks!_

_When we receive our supply list, my parents will be happy to take you to Diagon Alley with us. I greatly hope that you can come. You will need to tell us where to find you._

_Sincerely,_

_Astoria_

She tied the letter to Twinkles’s leg and sent her off. A reply came on the day of the release of the first single.

_Dear Astoria,_

_Thank you for telling me about the money. I never would have had it if it wasn’t for you and the others. I’m lucky to have it now since the Ministry just sent me a letter saying that they will no longer provide grants for students. I don’t know why because I haven’t done anything wrong. Also, I wouldn’t want you to try to find me, but I will meet you at the Leaky Cauldron before we go school shopping. Send me a letter when you get your list and I will tell you what time I will be there._

_Love, Rhiannon. x_

Astoria tried not to think about why she could not pick up her friend to go to Diagon Alley, and she was concerned about Rhiannon always walking and taking taxicabs round the city alone. Did Rhiannon consider her home too “embarrassing” to show her best friend? The more Astoria thought about it, the more confusing it was that the Ministry had stopped providing for the disadvantaged.

As the summer drew on, Astoria noticed that her father seemed to become more upset every time he read the _Daily Prophet_. She would often hear her parents discussing problems at the Ministry. Mr Greengrass had resigned from his job in early July, so Astoria knew that if what he was reading was still enough to upset him, things at the Ministry were very bad.

“I’m so glad you left, Adam,” Astoria heard her mother say to her father on a humid morning. Astoria stopped to listen before entering the breakfast room. Her father was speaking about the same problem that Rhiannon was facing.

“I am even gladder than you. Fudge’s newest act ended financial aid and grants for Hogwarts students. I swear that the Ministry is bungling everything it can.”

“Oh, no…”

“Yes, it’s all true. A reported sixty students have had to leave already to be home-schooled. Some families are even shipping their children out to Ilvermorny or _tutoring centres_.”

Astoria felt goose pimples tightening her skin and thought it would be best not to read the newspaper herself; she did not want to be daunted during her holiday. She could not figure out why the issues at the Ministry were arising and desperately convinced herself that they had nothing to do with the recent rise of the most dangerous Dark wizard, Lord Voldemort.

Unlike Voldemort, Pansy Parkinson could not be avoided. Daphne and Parkinson were sending each other letters of great length once a week. Daphne usually exhibited dramatic reactions to the content of the letters she received, but if Astoria questioned anything, Daphne would lock herself in her bedroom and tell Astoria to leave her alone. Sometimes Astoria wondered what it would have been like to have an older sister who didn’t act younger than she did.

The new school supply list appallingly did not arrive until the morning before the Hogwarts Express came, and Astoria knew that it would be pointless to send Rhiannon a letter then. She did receive another cheque; this one was worth one-hundred twenty Galleons. After doing some calculations, Astoria found that the album had over seven-hundred copies sold within two months. To any thirteen-year-old, two-hundred ten Galleons in two months was a great amount of money, but Rhiannon would feel positively regal.

Astoria wondered when the best time to go to Diagon Alley would be, since there wasn’t enough time to exchange letters. She didn’t know how Rhiannon’s suggestion of meeting at a place like the Leaky Cauldron would go over with her parents. Daphne was the most affronted.

“Well, she’s _your_ roommate. What time does she wake up when she doesn’t have class?”

“Erm, about noon.”

“Well, we’ll be shopping, and you can sit with the lunch crowd waiting for your friend to –– whatever –– arrive by aeroplane or something,” Daphne had sneered.

It didn’t turn out that their parents would leave Astoria unattended to wait for her friend. They simply delayed their shopping trip until afternoon. They arrived at lunchtime and found Rhiannon not long after.

“Hullo, Astoria!” Rhiannon called as she entered the pub and ran over to give her friend a hug. “How are ya?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Astoria said quietly.

Rhiannon had a black eye.

Astoria had a sick feeling that it was from Rhiannon’s mother and not from any accident. Astoria saw that Daphne was staring with her mouth open and elbowed her for being so tactless.

“It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Miss Clarke,” said Mrs Ciel-Greengrass, eyeing the bruise discreetly.

“You, too, Madam,” Rhiannon said, shaking her hand. “I gotta thank you in person for everything you done for the band and all. You can’t imagine how much I owe you…”

“You owe us nothing, Miss Clarke,” Mr Greengrass said. “Well! I am relieved that we could meet you here in time; the new book list did not arrive until this morning.”

“Yeah, I know. Jessica wasn’t too happy about the owl at nine in the morning, as you can see,” Rhiannon said deliberately, a tone of resentment surfacing.

“Jessica?” Mr Greengrass asked.

“Me mum,” Rhiannon said, and she started walking out the back of the pub where the entrance to Diagon Alley was.

Astoria saw her parents’ flabbergasted expressions before her father shook his head solemnly. The family followed Rhiannon, who had already opened the brick doorway in the wall behind the pub that led to Diagon Alley.

Rhiannon was surprisingly forthright about her abusive situation, but Astoria knew she couldn’t be so honest about it at home. Muggle and Wizarding societies were entirely segregated. It wasn’t like the Greengrasses had any authorities they could report the abuse to once they knew about it.

The crowds in the Alley moved like a wave in the ocean; some thousand students received their lists on the last day that they could shop. The three girls had short lists, though they needed more things for school than textbooks. Rhiannon gently reminded Astoria of the money so that she could buy her supplies, and Mr Greengrass offered to take Rhiannon to Gringotts to get it. Meanwhile, Astoria, Daphne, and their mother went to Twilfitt and Tattings to buy new blouses. Twilfitt and Tattings was a narrow, two-storey shop that sold higher-quality clothing for a much higher price. Remarkable tailors were on the first floor; superior seamstresses were on the second.

“I want one of these,” Daphne said, holding up a blouse to her mother only moments after entering the shop.

“You know they don’t allow Johnny collars, dear. That will not hold your tie correctly, and it looks… silly.”

Daphne harrumphed and continued to browse the clothing racks. Astoria found two blouses that were virtually the same as the ones she had, only they had prettier embroidery on the cuffs, which were linked rather than buttoned. They would be good replacements for the blouses that had become stained with potions and stress sweat.

“Daphne, try this,” Mrs Ciel-Greengrass said, holding up another blouse.

Daphne went to the fitting room with the blouse. She came out a minute later saying that it didn’t quite fit, but she liked it and wanted several.

“We’ll give them to Anthea then, shall we?”

They went to the second floor, but their seamstress Anthea was busy sewing the sleeves of a beautiful, mauve-taupe dress. She told them she would be a moment and Daphne sighed; Astoria noticed that Anthea flicked her wand at the dress much more aggressively after hearing Daphne’s attitude. When Anthea was finished, she calmed down greatly and asked Daphne what she wanted her to fix.

“This style of blouse. I can’t move my arms well in it. There is not enough fabric under the arms.”

Anthea said, “You need them larger, then? You must have, erm, _grown_ a bit. I can fix these straight away.”

At first unhappy with the word “larger,” Daphne smiled at the word “grown,” and Astoria rolled her eyes at Daphne’s utter vanity. Astoria wasn’t exactly close to needing more room in the armpits yet.

“Do you want a new dress, Astoria?” her mother asked.

Though coveting the dress waiting on the countertop, Astoria said, “No, thank you. I don’t need one.”

It had become weird for her to purchase things she did not really need after meeting Rhiannon. In a way, it made her frustrated with her conscience. She did love getting nice things.

Mrs Ciel-Greengrass showed a small smile.

“You and your sister are becoming so different as you get older.”

Astoria’s mother leisurely approached the display of dresses and remarked, “I think I will get a dress for the Christmas banquet now. Materials always start running low in November. Every girl seems to want a new dress for Christmas.”

Mrs Ciel-Greengrass picked out a gorgeous, deep red ball gown with silvery glass beads sewn on the bust and tiny diamond clasps to hold the fabric on the skirt in bunches. As she was having it fitted, the woman with the mauve-taupe dress came to pick it up. Astoria recognised her instantly, but stalled to react.

“Miss Greengrass, how are you?” Mrs Malfoy asked.

“I am well, thank you. How are you?”

Mrs Malfoy was not as overtly uncouth as Draco, but Astoria knew that Draco’s prejudices had to come from somewhere. Mrs Malfoy had a sharp aura of prissiness that reminded Astoria of Daphne. It showed when she ruthlessly inspected her newly fitted dress by lowering her eyes rather than her head.

“Fine, dear, thank you,” Mrs Malfoy said in a tone that indicated she was not.

Astoria had met Mrs Malfoy on the first night of the summer holiday. Draco, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle had been knocked out by hexes on the Hogwarts Express, and Astoria had to inform their parents of the incident. At the time, Astoria was slightly unnerved to see her father and Draco’s conversing casually. Mr Malfoy seemed to be even more conceited than his son, and need it be said again, Mrs Malfoy was not much better…

“Do you prefer Hogwarts to home-schooling, Miss Greengrass?” Mrs Malfoy asked after her dress was packed away.

“Oh… yes,” Astoria lied. Her previous year had been quite frenzied, but she had to look on the positive side for the coming school year.

“I once considered home-schooling Draco,” Mrs Malfoy replied as though Astoria’s “yes” had been the wrong answer. After an awkward pause, Mrs Malfoy said, “He tells me you are taking your Astronomy O.W.L. this year.”

“Yes,” Astoria answered.

“You must really enjoy that course,” Mrs Malfoy said surprisedly.

“I do. I want to become an astronomer when I graduate,” explained Astoria.

The course was nothing compared to the dream.

“An… astronomer. I see… Now, how is your sister?”

“Er,” Astoria mumbled. “She’s… Daphne. She’s over there.”

Mrs Malfoy suddenly looked troubled. “You and Daphne don’t get along?”

“We do disagree about many things.”

Why did Mrs Malfoy care if she and Daphne got along? The formalities had instantly become a serious conversation about matters that were not Mrs Malfoy’s business. In fact, it felt quite strange that Mrs Malfoy was speaking to her so familiarly.

“Yes, I disagreed about many things with my sisters, too,” Mrs Malfoy said with a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “You must put up with her, though. She is your sister…”

Astoria had a bad feeling she had exacerbated even more conversation out of Mrs Malfoy.

“Er, I put up with her all the time,” Astoria said gawkily. Trying to improve her statement, she added, “I suppose it’s the fact that Daphne and I are with one another all year now as opposed to only the summers that has made us squabble. Maybe… because we’re older. Well, she’s older. I’m thirteen. Well, I mean, we’re both older than before…”

Mrs Malfoy smiled slightly. Fortunately, Astoria’s mother finished giving Anthea tailoring details.

“Good afternoon, Narcissa. How have you been?” Mrs Ciel-Greengrass cut in.

“I am very well, dear. I was picking up a small gift for myself whilst Lucius and Draco get some things. Draco needs new Quidditch gear again. He was so very disappointed when they cancelled it last year, and his equipment is nearly two years old… Oh, Estelle, have you seen which textbooks the children have to buy? I’ve heard of _Defensive Magical Theory_ –– it does not teach anything!”

“They need _that_?”

“It’s positively absurd, don’t you think? They will use it for Defence Against the Dark Arts, but there is nothing of use in that book.”

“That book is ludicrous. It had horrible reviews in _Parents’ Academic Digest_. Astoria, darling, you and your friends must learn defensive spells from the library at school,” Mrs Ciel-Greengrass ordered.

“Yes, Maman.”

Daphne arrived and was obviously ready to leave. She had her five new blouses in a bag, having bought them herself out of impatience.

“We’re going to get the textbooks now. Goodbye, Cissy,” Mrs Ciel-Greengrass said.

“Au revoir,” Mrs Malfoy replied, though she looked quite interested in catching Daphne in a conversation, too.

Leaving the shop, Astoria’s party realised that the crowd would make it nearly impossible to find the others if they had already left Gringotts.

“We should check the sweet shops,” Astoria indicated.

Her assumption that Rhiannon would have ambled many miles to find some sugary treats was true, and Rhiannon was found savouring a chocolate-covered strawberry nearby a sweet shop as Astoria’s father was making certain effort to eat a citrus chew.

“Got me money!” Rhiannon said with great enthusiasm. She held up a bag and shook it, making the contents jingle.

“That’s great!” Astoria said upon seeing how delighted Rhiannon was. She must have felt wonderful to get her own payment from her band, and Astoria knew Rhiannon had never even held an amount like that.

“We should get our books now, eh?”

“Yes. Maman, Rhiannon and I will be at Flourish and Blotts,” Astoria said.

“I have to go to Madam Primpernelle’s Beautifying Potions first,” Daphne said.

“I’ll go with you, dear,” said Mrs Ciel-Greengrass, and they left the other three, instructing them to meet back in front of the sweet shop at two-thirty.

Flourish and Blotts had many more customers than Twilfitt and Tattings. Mr Greengrass went to the back of the shop for reference books whist Astoria and Rhiannon picked up their books for school. _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_ was easy to find, though _Defensive Magical Theory_ was not in the school textbook section.

“There it is,” Astoria said, pointing to the “miscellaneous” section.

“Not a good sign for a book on a theory,” Rhiannon remarked.

However poorly it was received by critics, Hogwarts students were hurrying to buy it before the small stock ran out. Rhiannon was having trouble pushing past them, and Astoria hadn’t a prayer of reaching that shelf.

“There’s only ten left‽ And I thought they called this a bookshop,” a familiar voice complained.

“Astoria, _run_ ,” Rhiannon said.

Draco was standing closest to the bookshelf talking with his classmate Theodore Nott. He looked up and saw the girls at the edge of the cluster of students.

“Hello, Greengrass,” he said over their voices.

“See, when I say ‘run,’ you _run_ ,” Rhiannon grumbled at Astoria.

“Hello, Draco,” Astoria said. “Would you get me three copies please?”

“I guess,” Draco said, shamelessly picking up half the shop’s supply of the textbook before other students scrambled to grab the remaining five.

After giving one to Theodore Nott, Draco sauntered over and handed all but one to her, which he kept for himself. Rhiannon looked the other way at nothing in particular.

“Thank you,” Astoria said.

He nodded. “Did Daphne tell you about the new prefects in our class?”

“No,” Astoria said. “She doesn’t tell me much at all.”

“I’m one of them. Pansy’s the other.”

There could not have been a worse girl, and the only worse boy would have been Blaise Zabini.

“That’s…” Astoria stammered. There was no doubt in her mind that Parkinson would get her in trouble now. And if Draco wasn’t already arrogant enough…

“Bloody awful!” Rhiannon exclaimed. She had a certain way of saying the things Astoria thought but would not voice.

“For you it is,” Draco snapped. “And what’s _that_ on your face?”

“Don’t talk to me, you––”

“ _Language_ ,” Draco said.

“Well, I certainly won’t enjoy having Parkinson harass me more now that she has a fancy badge stuck on her robe,” Astoria spoke over the two.

“She won’t,” Draco ignorantly asserted.

Rhiannon walked to the next shelf and pretended to look at books.

“Of course she won’t,” Astoria said mordantly. She had trouble believing that someone like Parkinson would be made a prefect. Parkinson was one of the most merciless bullies Astoria knew. Her marks were okay, but Astoria knew girls who had much better ones. Additionally, Parkinson was barely responsible except in the sense of being responsible for an offense. Terrible scowls were forming on Astoria’s face, so she tried to think about something else.

“Have you heard our album?” Astoria asked hesitantly. Draco was responsible for getting an article in the _Daily Prophet_ about the band and was the first person outside of their Music class to hear them play a song.

“Actually, yes, I thought––”

“Come on, Astoria, we have to go,” Rhiannon said suddenly, running back over and grabbing Astoria’s arm. She walked Astoria to the till as though it was a raising drawbridge.

“Bye, then,” Draco said.

“Er, goodbye,” Astoria said as she was led away.

The girls paid for their books and met with Mr Greengrass before leaving the shop.

“Honestly, if those two are prefects, I might get expelled on purpose,” Rhiannon grumbled.

“Absolutely,” Astoria said. “…You know, he was about to say something about the album when you wanted to hurry away.”

“It couldn’t have been anything good!” Rhiannon stated.

“You don’t know that. He didn’t sound like he was going to say something bad.”

“Who?” Astoria’s father asked.

“Malfoy,” Rhiannon said.

“Ah. He heard your album?”

“Apparently. We crafted it to make people like him uncomfortable, but he seemed to like it,” Astoria answered.

“What? He couldn’t have. And who _cares_ what he thought of it?” Rhiannon returned.

“I don’t care; I just like to catch him off-guard,” Astoria grinned.

“We have nearly forty-five minutes before we’re to meet with mother and sister. Do either of you need anything else?” Mr Greengrass asked.

“New quills and parchment,” Rhiannon answered. “Can’t forget that.”

The girls bought their supplies and then returned to the sweet shop to meet with Daphne and Mrs Ciel-Greengrass. Daphne was carrying several bags on both arms.

“I bought you some pimple remover for that ugly thing on your chin,” she said.

“Thanks, Daphne…” Astoria mumbled. “I bought you your textbooks before they ran out.”

“Oh, good!”

“Rhiannon, what time do you have to be home?” Mrs Ciel-Greengrass asked.

“At least an hour before I have to get on the train tomorrow,” Rhiannon answered seriously.

Mrs Ciel-Greengrass didn’t ask Rhiannon to elaborate. Her parents were realising what Astoria had at the beginning of school last year: Rhiannon and her mother were not a family.

“Well, if you have no other plans for today, you are welcome to come home with us,” Mr Greengrass said.

Rhiannon remained quiet for a few seconds before accepting the invitation.

Astoria wondered how Rhiannon would react to her house. Rhiannon lived in a flat in Whitechapel, and Astoria worried that Quennell Park would be so imposing to her that it might be offensive. Astoria shuffled behind the group as they went back to the Leaky Cauldron and used Floo powder to go home. Quennell Park was more than a nice mansion. It was a world set off from the real life of many.


	2. At Pure-Blood Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon visits Quennell Park for the first time, and she and Astoria have to work through their differences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 2 - "Marble Halls" by Enya

Rhiannon shook the ashes off of her trainers. She stepped out of a large fireplace and into the most magnificent room she had ever seen. In the centre of it hung a crystal chandelier larger than she was, holding at least forty candles. To the left and right of the chandelier, there were two smaller ones with fine, rose-coloured prisms glinting in the sunlight coming in from church-sized windows. Rhiannon could not help but look straight up with her mouth gaping; the ceiling seemed to have levels of its own due to all of the ornamental moulding. Golden scrollwork decorated everything from mirrors and picture frames to the pilasters in the walls. A flowery, vermillion rug spanned most of the room except close to the walls, where dozens of ivory-tinged chairs waited for an overflow of guests. Two medallion sofas faced opposite one another; two attractively upholstered chairs were near the fireplace. An upright piano that was just as heavily ornamented as the ceilings stood across the room. In the corner, there was an oak writing desk, and in front of Rhiannon was the unpretentious young lady who lived there.

“This is our drawing room,” Astoria said in a shaky voice.

“Wow,” Rhiannon uttered. She could barely believe the place existed, and she did not believe at all that she was standing in it.

“Would you like a cup of tea, Rhiannon?” Mrs Ciel-Greengrass asked.

“…Yeah, er, thanks,” Rhiannon said, and Mrs Ciel-Greengrass walked through the doorway on the left.

The other Greengrasses sat near the fireplace, and Rhiannon joined them. Squirming in her chair at the sight of the room, she looked out of the window next to her and saw a massive garden with a fountain that she first mistook for a swimming pool. There were countless flowerbeds and rows of neatly-cut shrubbery. Beyond the trimmed grass of the garden, there was thick forest.

“So this is… Penhurst?” Rhiannon asked.

It was sort of the middle of nowhere; Rhiannon had never heard of the place before Astoria had told her where she lived.

“Yes. Outside the forest is Penhurst Lane. We’re not far from Battle,” Astoria said.

Mrs Ciel-Greengrass brought in the tea. Rhiannon clutched the little porcelain cup so as not to spill any on the majestic furniture. She felt extremely unconventional as every other person held their teacups as though they were immune to spilling it. She then remembered that all it would take to clean a spill was the wave of a wand, and she felt like groaning. Here she was, holding fine china in a drawing room larger than three of her flats put together. Her baggy jeans, trainers, and sleeveless-shirt-under-flannel combination weighed her down on the couch. She was in a miserable stupor; perhaps she was dreaming.

The bearded man with neatly combed, dark brown hair sipped his tea quietly. A golden chain was attached to his vest and hinted of an expensive watch inside his pocket. He had pale green eyes that contained a lazier, more pensive gaze than his younger daughter’s. The pretty woman with short, wavy blonde hair sat next to him. She had kind blue eyes, smiling pink lips, and manicured fingertips. She always spoke dulcetly with a French accent, and she could easily be a reference model for a porcelain doll maker. The firstborn daughter of this couple had her mother’s features with her father’s nose. She wore a jewelled headband and let her natural blonde curls fall onto her back. She had a sharp tone in most everything she said, and the gentleness of her mother’s eyes was absent. The girl was the most materialistic of the family, proud of where she came from.

Her younger sister was glancing round the drawing room at nothing in particular. She had pouty lips, rosy cheeks, and a much pampered hairdo. She had abandoned the baby doll ringlets and fringe which she wore during the last school year, making her widow’s peak visible. Her hair was longer, still tightly curled, but it flowed much more gracefully when she moved her head than it had previously. This girl was naïve, but she was motivated to become something more than a sheltered girl with an arresting surname. A kind and candid heart, she placed no value on blood purity or social class. If she did, Rhiannon would not be in the grand manor house. She would not be living the dream of being in a band and would not have anything in Gringotts. Above all, she would not have a dear friend, who, by the sole aspect of her big-heartedness, made Rhiannon lower her eyes in humility.

“Rhiannon?” said the girl.

“Yeah?” Rhiannon said, slowly accepting her surroundings.

“Would you like a sandwich or any snacks?” Astoria offered.

“No, thanks. I’m not hungry,” Rhiannon declined.

“All right. Perhaps you could help me pack? I haven’t really prepared for school. I’ve been distracted.”

“Sure.”

Exiting the drawing room was another breath-taking experience for Rhiannon. An imperial staircase with fixed candelabras at the edge the rails stood before her, and beyond it was a glimpse of what she assumed to be a ballroom. The whole house was so vast that it made her wonder what it would look like from an aerial view. Astoria led her up the left staircase and into a hall with gorgeous glass lanterns between every door.

Seeing Rhiannon’s expression, Astoria started naming some of the rooms so as to prove they were not all useless.

“Father’s study, music room, studio, Maman’s study…”

But Rhiannon was looking at the paintings on the wall.

 _Astoria Greengrass, Daphne Greengrass, Adam Greengrass, Estelle Ciel-Greengrass_.

They all looked younger. Astoria and Daphne had cute bows in their hair and wide eyes. The paintings and names continued all the way down the hall, and no one looked to be any older than forty in them. The occupants were dressed in those lovely garments they could all afford. The curious thing was that none of them spoke, moved, or even blinked.

 _Faunus Greengrass IX, Elly Arcan-Greengrass, Sylvester Greengrass XX, Renshaw Greengrass XI, Xylia Greengrass, Ansel Greengrass, Asenath Greengrass, Thalie Greengrass-Wakeland, Helvetius Wakeland, Artemis Wakeland, Erez Wakeland_...

“We don’t use regular paintings in the halls,” Astoria said. “Since we have all of the portraits of our family members, no one would be able to have any peace and quiet if they were always talking to one another. The next time I have to sit for a portrait is when I début.”

“Right, yeah,” Rhiannon said absentmindedly.

“Those are my uncles, aunts, and cousins,” Astoria said of the paintings as they walked down the hall. “We have a long gallery in the southeast wing for my mother’s side of the family. Most of my older relatives’ portraits are in the northwest wing.”

Rhiannon nodded without a word. Of course Astoria’s house was divided into wings.

“Most of the family used to live here,” Astoria described. “The war split us up. My grandparents and great aunts and uncles left for the Continent; most of their children left as well. Only my father and my uncle Faunus stayed during the war; eventually, they had to escape, too. Everyone came back, but they didn’t return to the estate. Yet the woodland of our estate was sworn to us long ago, so someone had to stay. My father inherited it because my aunt Thalie wanted to live closer to the coast, and Uncle Faunus did not want to be here.”

“I don’t see how anyone would move away from _here_ ,” Rhiannon commented.

“Well,” Astoria said gravely, “our family is famous for being ‘blood-traitors.’ Death Eaters could have massacred all of us easily in one place. It would have been the end of our family. We became fear-stricken because this property is known to be ours. Father says that our magic is more powerful here, though, so he says it’s actually safest this way.”

Astoria was conservative with her words, so Rhiannon decided to stop talking. They made a right turn and stood in front of a tall oak door. Astoria opened it, and they walked into a sizeable sitting room.

“This is my boudoir,” Astoria said.

The chairs in this room, apart from the tiny one at the writing desk, looked much more comfortable than the extra chairs in the drawing room. In the centre of five chairs, there was a small table topped with a tall, fluted, hobnail vase full of pink roses. The wallpaper was a pastel grey-blue, and had paintings of roses within artfully scalloped shapes. There was a boudoir grand piano, and in the corner of the room was a massive grandfather clock that showed the phases of the moon as well as the positions of constellations above the face. To the right of it was an open roll-top desk with scores of celestial maps overflowing from it. A bookcase that was filled only with astronomy books stood on the other side of the room. It was no wonder as to why Astoria was two classes ahead in the subject.

“It’s very cute,” Rhiannon said.

“Thank you,” said Astoria softly.

“Who takes care of this place?”

“We have two house elves named Dimsie and Prissy. They are really friendly, and do they ever love to garden!”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“I think I’ll take a trunk this year,” Astoria considered.

“Good idea,” said Rhiannon.

The two walked into the rather girly bedroom. Astoria had a canopy bed with lace draping. Ornate furniture including a chest of drawers, an armoire, and a vanity imposed themselves upon Rhiannon. A small collection of telescopes sat near French doors that led to a semicircular balcony.

Astoria placed her textbooks in the trunk at the foot of her bed and requested, “Would you please tie my maps up for me whilst I get my clothes together?”

“Yeah,” Rhiannon said, and went back into the sitting room.

Astoria took five times the amount of time to pack than Rhiannon. When she was finished at last, she went down her mental checklist.

“Uniforms, wand, shampoo, conditioner, hair potions, hair accessories, pyjamas, dress robes, casual wear, wireless, maps, telescope, lunascope, school supplies, backpack, erm…”

“Toothbrush? Hair brush?”

“I have those.”

“I guess you’re ready,” Rhiannon said.

Astoria sighed and fell down on her bed.

“I think I’m getting homesick already,” she said.

“I’d love to know what that feels like,” Rhiannon joked.

“It’s still new for me,” Astoria explained. “‘Homesick’ doesn’t mean missing the place. It means missing people who are in a certain place where you are not.”

Rhiannon realised that she knew quite well what homesickness felt like.

“We won’t have the Yule Ball this year,” Rhiannon said to distract herself.

“That’s right, so at least I can come home for Christmas. You don’t plan on going home for those holidays, do you?” asked Astoria.

“Hell no,” Rhiannon said.

“Perhaps you could come to our Christmas banquet,” Astoria wished. “You could spend Christmas with me.”

“Er, I don’t know,” Rhiannon said. She was not the “banquet-goer” type by any means. She could not afford any proper attire, and the etiquette required would involve too much practise. Simply standing in the manor was enough; attending a formal dinner with an aristocratic family was too much. She could not even guarantee that they were all Muggle-born friendly, as Daphne was not.

“You think your family likes poor Muggle-borns at their banquets?” Rhiannon asked.

“Oh, don’t say such things!” Astoria answered. “My sister is the black sheep in that aspect. She’s easily influenced, you know; she’s nothing but a sponge. Being friends with Parkinson didn’t help her character a bit!”

“Oh… really,” Rhiannon said sceptically. The doubt about the lack of any pure-blood supremacism in a family like theirs was surfacing the more she looked round the nice house.

“Why, yes. Why do you think we’re not connected to the Blacks at all? We keep our squibs. We let our children marry whomever they want. We don’t have the same beliefs.”

“How are you still a pure-blooded family, then, if there were so many intermarriages?” Rhiannon challenged. Not only until after she spoke did she realise that it was probably a rude accusation.

“I never said there were a lot of those. We have hundreds of books on our genealogy in the library. No, no –– not for the sake of blood purity, but for recording our family history! That’s how I know that since the 1960s, we’ve had half-blood Greengrasses… My great-grandfather’s first son’s branch is entirely half-blood… The rest of the family goes back to 1620 as pure-blood. You know, there aren’t tremendous amounts of non-related Wizarding families anymore. It no longer matters.”

“If it no longer matters, then why did your family marry outside of Britain so often? To avoid the Black family, or to stay pure-blood?” Rhiannon asked.

She couldn’t help herself. Finding fault in a wealthy pure-blood family had become her goal after she sat through all of the “perfect.” She knew she should not pester her friend like this, but the envy welled up inside of her. Astoria Greengrass had amazing wealth and pure-blood lineage, a huge family that loved her, and a paradise in which to live. Rhiannon lived in a flat in a slum, always hoping her money wouldn’t run out when her mother stocked up on cocaine. Not to mention the fact that Jessica believed Rhiannon to be a freak Satanist. It was a comparison too great.

“It wasn’t so deliberate like that,” Astoria raised her voice. “Of course, no one wanted to marry someone from the House of Black, but no one specifically said, ‘Well, I still must marry pure-blood.’ The way it happened, we married for _social class_ –– yes I’ll _admit_ we married for social class –– but it was for the sole purpose of having something in common.”

Rhiannon felt her face screw into a cruel look which she mercilessly gave to Astoria.

“Look at this stupid manor, Rhiannon!” Astoria shouted in response. “My aunts and uncles were the first ones to leave the estate for _three-hundred fifty_ years. Upper-class wizards tend to be pure-blood since they trace back so far and the inheritance is uninterrupted. We simply married upper-class people because that was who we knew, with whom we were comfortable. You must imagine how good it is to know that someone _isn_ ’ _t_ marrying you for your money whenever you are wealthy. And we knew these people. We had the money to travel, and we met _more_ people. They already had money… they wanted love! _Love_ , Rhiannon, not blood! I can’t make myself Muggle-born to make you feel better, Rhiannon, but if I could, I would if only to show you how meaningless it is to trademark the contents of one’s veins!”

“I’m sorry, Astoria. I shouldn’t have said that.” Rhiannon sighed.

“I _knew_ this would happen if you saw this place,” Astoria sputtered.

“I’m really sorry, Astoria. It’s just, if you saw my flat, if you met Jessica… I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Rhiannon said.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have given you some of… of _this_ life and taken some of that! Even it out! Make it so you didn’t suffer. _I’m_ the one who’s sorry,” Astoria answered.

Rhiannon could feel her heart beating quickly. Why was she so volatile? She could never hold her tongue, that which had got her plenty of detentions and plenty of bruises that she didn’t deserve. Rhiannon timidly left the room to roll up and tie Astoria’s celestial maps, though she hardly thought Astoria still needed them to study. When she walked back into the bedroom, Astoria was sitting at her vanity and thoroughly inspecting her reddened face. Her hands shuffled through the open drawer and retrieved a handkerchief; she held it to her eyes for a long while, and Rhiannon saw her shoulders move as she heaved her breaths. Rhiannon stayed in the doorway, clear from the reflection of the mirror. Astoria did not know she was there; she lowered her head into her hands and began to cry quietly, but it sounded so loud in Rhiannon’s ears.

Sometimes Rhiannon felt like a charity project for Astoria to give to rather than a true friend. Sometimes she even felt parasitic, and that was a horrid feeling. It was so difficult to look into the face of the over-privileged when too much of Rhiannon’s life had been focused on survival. And yet, it was not Astoria’s fault. None of it was Astoria’s fault. The poverty, the abuse, the abandonment, the near-death experience, the loneliness… it was not personally Astoria’s fault. Astoria had come in to the world from this palace in the middle of the woods and had dragged Rhiannon out of a hole along her way. What had Rhiannon done in return? The amount of thankfulness and respect she had for Astoria had never been shown to the extent that Astoria deserved. She approached Astoria without a word. Before Astoria could pretend that she had not been crying, Rhiannon gave her a hug.

“I wish I could have been there for you. I’m so sorry,” Astoria confessed.

“None of that’s your fault, Astoria. Please don’t cry over it.”

“Oh, Rhiannon, I can’t help it. I feel awful about this estate. And I can’t stop, Rhi; Parkinson’s told me that I’m ugly when… when I cry, and it makes it much harder to, to stop crying once I start.”

“The last thing I want is for you to feel guilty or uncomfortable around me,” Rhiannon said firmly. “It’s the same as you not wanting me to be angry or jealous. Now I don’t give a damn what Parkinson’s said to you because you’re a beautiful girl and a wonderful friend, and she wishes she was a tenth of what you are. Now how ’bout we stop feeling guilty and angry towards each other?”

Rhiannon hugged her friend again as though it would somehow guard the girl against pain. Astoria gripped Rhiannon’s shirt until she felt better, and Rhiannon never budged. Finally, she knew what it felt like to give.


	3. Another Evening with a Malfoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 3 - "The Authority Song" by Jimmy Eat World

Astoria accidentally awoke three hours before the train left on the following morning. Unable to return to sleep, she remained in a state of slow-motion ambling over to her vanity to do her hair, eating with her family in the breakfast room, and even thinking. Sitting across from Daphne at the breakfast table was a challenge. As soon as they stepped foot on the train, Daphne would go back to ignoring Astoria. It was difficult to pretend everything was peaceable between them for the sake of their parents. Up until then, the “back to school” season did not have any effect on her. It came suddenly, and it took its toll.

Academics were forced into her mind. Astoria accepted the fact that she was terrible in Herbology, but she was unhappy with her below-average ability in Charms. Her wand either caused her spells to be executed to a greater or lesser extent than intended… or to not be executed at all. The only reason that Astoria did not want a new wand was that she wanted to prove to herself and to others that she could handle her original one. One of her darkest secrets, one that she had not even told Rhiannon, was that Astoria had gone the first three years of her life without using magic. By that point, her family had already made assumptions that she was incapable. The only person who had ever believed in her magical talent was her cousin Renshaw, who ironically was a Squib.

When Astoria was little, it was easy for her to look to him as a source of comfort. Now, though, it seemed like they were too far apart in age to have anything in common and too close in age to not be awkward around each other. Astoria had a few half-penned letters to him about her struggles that she thought could be in bad taste. He couldn’t use magic at all. She was just whining.

If there were anything justifiable to whine about, Transfiguration and Potions would be getting more complex, and the elective classes did not make anything easier. Astoria did not know what to expect of Defence Against the Dark Arts, what with the terrible textbook they would be using. She did not even know who the new teacher was. Worst of all, Astronomy was still making her uneasy. She was excellent in the subject, but she had to take her O.W.L. exam at the end of the year. If she did not get a good mark, she would not be able to take the advanced classes, and her dream of becoming an astronomer would be ruined. The problem was the pressure more so than the lack of knowledge, but it had a terrible effect on her peace of mind.

Another, more cavernous fear that had resurfaced was the fear of You-Know-Who. Headmaster Dumbledore himself said that the Dark wizard had returned, and based off of the information Astoria read about the First Wizarding War, that was enough to make one paranoid. Draco Malfoy had even warned Astoria about the dangers of her friendship with Rhiannon. He stated that people like Rhiannon were obviously targets for You-Know-Who, but so-called “blood-traitors” were in nearly equal danger. Astoria did not want to think about what the danger was for Rhiannon. Going to school had become more complicated than it should have been.

After arriving at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Daphne and Astoria hugged their parents goodbye and boarded the train. Daphne went to a compartment in the back, and Astoria sat in the first seat she saw. Several students were in that compartment already, though Astoria sat alone and waited for Rhiannon. She arrived ten long minutes later.

“Jessica didn’t even notice I came home last night, she was so smashed,” Rhiannon sneered. “To think I coulda stayed with you if your parents were all right with it…”

“Did she notice you leave?” asked Astoria, disgusted with the woman she did not know.

“Wasn’t there this morning,” Rhiannon shrugged.

The compartments began to fill up rapidly, and soon it was nearly time for the train to depart. Rhiannon glanced out of the window and sat up quickly.

“It’s Professor Lupin!” she piped, flicking her hand at Astoria to come to the window.

Professor Lupin was Rhiannon’s favourite teacher in all of her years at Hogwarts. Rhiannon pressed her nose against the window and waved. Astoria looked out to see a man with greying hair and a scruffy moustache who was not dressed any nicer than Rhiannon was. He was standing near Professor Moody and an old lady with a purple hat; all of them were watching Harry Potter’s rowdy pet dog run alongside the train. It was Professor Moody who, with his magical eye, noticed Rhiannon waving and brought Professor Lupin’s attention to her. Professor Lupin smiled merrily and waved back; the old woman made a “rock on” sign that Rhiannon unsurely returned. Rhiannon had to sit back in her seat again once the train began to pull away, though she kept her eyes on the platform until it was out of sight.

“Who was the strange old woman by Professor Moody?” Astoria chortled. “His wife?”

Rhiannon did not respond.

“Rhiannon?”

“No idea, but she’s not old,” Rhiannon said suddenly, furrowing her brow. “Probably… probably under a, er, Polyjuice Potion.”

“How do you mean?”

“She uses the ‘rock on’ sign, Astoria. Not gonna fool me…”

“Oh, that’s a good point.”

Rhiannon stared at the empty space in the compartment. When Astoria caught her attention, she perked up and smiled. For some reason, there wasn’t much to say until the compartment door slid open, and the Carrow twins entered.

“Hi!” Hestia greeted. (Astoria could only tell that it was Hestia by her use of such a cheery voice at that hour of the morning).

“Hey, how have you been?” Rhiannon asked.

“Just terrible!” Hestia said, still retaining her happy voice.

“Me too!” Rhiannon smiled.

“What happened to your eye?” Flora asked.

“It got bruised,” Rhiannon said, stating the obvious. “Did you get your royalty cheques?”

“Yes, we did,” Flora said. “But our aunt and uncle took them away from us.”

Rhiannon’s expression went blank again. “Well, there’s always next month’s cheque.”

“Can’t we can tell Mr Davis to keep a portion of your money in your place in the record company’s vaults instead?” Astoria said. “We should have set it up that way in the first place.”

“That would be great, wouldn’t it, Flora?” said Hestia.

“They’ll demand the money anyway,” Flora whispered.

“Maybe we can figure something out later,” Hestia cut the conversation short, embarrassed of talking about it in front of Astoria and Rhiannon.

Not to mention, a group of students in the seats nearby were gaping at them. One witch with curly, brown hair was searching through her bag. She pulled out a quill and a slip of parchment, and Astoria discovered that her intentions were not exclusive to staring at Rhiannon’s black eye.

“You’re Pariah? Can I have your autographs?” she asked.

Hestia took the parchment and quill and was the first to sign it, notably using a differing script from the one in which she usually wrote. She passed it to Rhiannon, who made no effort to improve her handwriting for the autograph. Astoria received it after that and was taking her usual length of time to make her swirly letters. Flora handed the parchment back to the girl after scrawling a simple “F.C.”

“Thanks!” the girl chirped and went back to her seat.

The very first autograph marked the start of a string of students asking for signatures. The girls passed the papers round in an orderly manner, however unexpected the whole situation was.

“I loved your album!” said a girl who looked to be a fifth-year.

“You’re real pretty,” said a first- or second-year boy to a very flattered Astoria.

“Just think,” Rhiannon said humorously, passing a piece of parchment to Astoria, “our handwriting is worth something. I should write my name up several times and go sell it!”

“I don’t quite think we’re at that point,” Hestia said with a smile.

After the students dissipated, Rhiannon leaned back in her seat contentedly.

“This is _it_ ,” she said. “This is great.”

Astoria, however, was unable to find the same level joy in having people stare at her as she signed her name. It was a wonderful confidence booster, but it was so, so _weird_.

“Superstars, aren’t we?” said a slow, tart voice.

Rhiannon instantly put her head down on the table and wrapped her arms so as not to see. Flora pulled out a book, and Hestia looked out the window at the cloudy, grey sky. Draco was in full uniform already, with his prefect’s badge bedizening his outer robes.

“Don’t worry, I don’t want an autograph,” he said.

“Yeah, like we’d give you one,” Hestia muttered.

“You ran out of the bookshop yesterday,” Draco said to Astoria.

Astoria found it uncomfortable that she was the only one _not_ ignoring Draco. Normally, she would feel rude flagrantly ignoring someone. A part of her really wanted to know what he thought of the album, though she definitely could not raise the question.

“If you don’t want an autograph –– and I don’t think you’ll be joining us here –– what are you here for?” Astoria asked.

Her friends were expecting her to say something like that. With all three of them looking away, Astoria was left as the spokesperson and had to act accordingly. She had done this with ease last year.

“Prefects have to patrol the compartments for rule-breakers,” Draco said, eyeing the top of Rhiannon’s head.

“We aren’t doing anything,” Astoria said.

“Right now you aren’t. But you’ll want to make sure _she_ doesn’t do anything,” he said, tilting his head toward Rhiannon. “I’m just itching to throw that one in detention.”

“Go itch somewhere else,” Rhiannon chuckled.

Draco made a face at Rhiannon, who could not see it, and walked away. Hestia poked Rhiannon, who lifted her head as Flora put her book back in her bag. A light drizzle started falling outside. Thankfully, Astoria had mastered the Impervius Charm. When she arrived at school last September, she was drenched from rain even before Parkinson pushed her in the lake.

It was over three hours before the compartment quieted down. Hestia and Rhiannon had nodded off to sleep, and Flora once more retrieved her book, _The Dark Arts –– A Legal Compendium_. In the quietude, Astoria heard the compartment door slide open slowly.

“Astoria?” called her sister’s voice.

“What?” Astoria asked. Daphne was utterly morose; her bright blue eyes twinkled from the remnants of tears. She walked over to stand next to Astoria, and said very softly, “Sally-Anne left.”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry.”

Sally-Anne Perks had been in Daphne’s dormitory for four years. She was a frail girl with short brown hair, glasses, and an abundance of freckles. She did not have much in common with the other girls in the dorm, but they all treated her as a close friend with whom they could talk about anything. She might have been the kindest girl in all of Slytherin.

“Tracey told me as soon as I sat down. I looked like an idiot crying in there. No one’s doing anything right now, so I thought I’d come sit with you.”

“That’s fine, but you’ll have to talk quietly; those two are sleeping,” Astoria said.

“Tracey got a short letter this morning,” Daphne said, holding out a piece of folded parchment. Astoria took it and read the dainty letters that looked to have had teardrops on them by the way the ink was smudged.

_Tracey, please show this to the other girls when you see them._

_I can’t come back to school this year. I really did not want to tell you until now because I knew you would be upset over the summer. The Ministry got rid of the financial aid system for students. We can’t get new supplies, new uniforms, books, or any services with their funds. My family can’t afford to buy me these things every year and still have enough money at home. Please do not think that you could help because my parents would never accept aid from friends (that means you, Daph and Tracey.) I’m sorry I did not tell you earlier, but I really did not want any of you to know. I guess you have to know now. I hope all of you have an exciting year. (But don’t get too excited, Pansy, or he’ll think you’re odd!) Also, I will send the potions supplies I borrowed back to you as soon as I can, Millicent. Thank you so much for letting me use them. Thank you all so much for everything. I think I will be going to the Ilvermorny in the United States. I heard it is lacking in eligible boys! I will write as often as I can._

_With much love,_

_Sally-Anne_

“That’s sad that she had to leave,” Astoria said distantly.

Daphne had no concept of exactly how poor Sally-Anne must have been if she couldn’t even buy her textbooks. To Daphne, Rhiannon was beneath her but not Sally-Anne was not

Daphne whined, “Now we have Heather Thatcham in our dorm. She doesn’t seem too happy about it.”

Astoria hardly knew Sally-Anne, but she would miss her as well. The quiet girl had a calmative effect on Parkinson. If there was a new girl in their very dorm that did not like Parkinson, there was no doubt Parkinson would throw her frustration all over the school.

“So who will think Parkinson’s odd?” Astoria asked, having an cold feeling about the answer.

“Malfoy,” Daphne said irritably. “Ever since they started dating, she hasn’t shut up about him. Draco _this_ and Draco _that_. I like him even less now simply because of her!”

Astoria coughed the taste out of her mouth. Of course Parkinson and Draco would be dating. An established relationship between them was bound to make everyone else miserable. Parkinson would act even sillier than usual, and Draco’s ego would shoot through the roof as his compliment-feeder followed him around. They would make an unstoppable team of bullies. Daphne had said that Parkinson had been mentally dating Draco for four years. That fact showed itself in the most annoying way. She would drop her books to have him pick them up, glare at every girl who even said one sentence to him, sit next to or close to him at every breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and the way that she held his arm at the Yule Ball still made Astoria cringe. Yet Parkinson had what she wanted, and a happy Parkinson was better than an angry one. If, on the off chance, she would leave Astoria alone, it would be ideal.

“I can’t believe he’d date her,” Astoria murmured.

“I can’t believe she’d date _him_!” Daphne countered. “What a _joy_ all of this will be!”

Astoria eventually proved to be uninteresting enough for her sister to leave shortly. Rhiannon and Hestia slept until the train pulled into the station at Hogsmeade. They were extremely drowsy, and needed much encouragement to get off the train.

“Flora, whaddya say you lemme see that book when you’re done?” Rhiannon mumbled.

“This? It’s a bit dry, Rhiannon,” said Flora of her legal compendium.

Astoria was only half-listening to the others’ conversation; she was thinking of how happy she was that, with the Impervius Charm, her hair remained dry in the light rain as the girls got into a vacant carriage set off for school. When they reached the Great Hall, Rhiannon and Hestia sat down at the Slytherin table and immediately rested their heads. The two both had nocturnal sleeping cycles over the summer, and the school schedule consequently disagreed with them. Rhiannon said that she had a habit of listening to music and enjoying the peace of the night, and Hestia noted that she often wrote potions recipes as they came to her, feeling that she wouldn’t have the same ideas in the mornings. However, Flora, who suffered from insomnia, was wide awake. She had had the problem since early childhood, and her body had nearly adapted itself to work on five hours of sleep. Yet the other girls were never quite sure when she was grumpy from lack of sleep or grumpy because of her personality.

Astoria became grumpy herself as Draco Malfoy and his gang decided to sit near her own group. However, he did not have much of a chance to annoy her before the Sorting Ceremony started. The worn brown hat was set in the middle of the hall and began to sing. When Astoria was Sorted the previous year, the song that the hat sang had worried her. By the description of the Houses, Astoria feared that she would be sorted into Hufflepuff as Parkinson expected her to be. This time, however, Astoria grew uneasy at the story within the song. As the hat sang the line “ _Slytherin took only pure-blood wizards of great cunning just like him_ ,” many heads at their table turned to stare at Rhiannon. She was only half-awake; otherwise she might have made an unkind gesture in return. Rhiannon was known to many as “Slytherin’s Blot.” She was reportedly the first Muggle-born to ever be sorted into Slytherin. Many a slur was thrown at her on a daily basis ever since her exposure. She hated every moment of it until Professor Lupin had told her she was Sorted into Slytherin because she was strong and capable of making a change. Astoria, seeing Rhiannon pick pills off of her clothing, didn’t view her as a Slytherin revolutionary. All she wanted was for Rhiannon to have a normal life.

The hat’s song continued to bother Astoria as it sang:

“ _Oh, know the perils, read the signs_

_The warning history shows_

_For Hogwarts is in danger from external, deadly foes_

_And we must unite inside her or we’ll crumble from within_

_I have told you, I have warned you_

_Let the Sorting now begin._ ”

How scary that must have been for the first years! Astoria picked at her fingernails and looked over at the terrified children about to be sorted. The last things they needed to be thinking about were perils and deadly foes. Perhaps Astoria needed to think of something else as well. Every time the Sorting Hat called “Slytherin,” the table grew loud with cheers. Rhiannon ogled each child that approached the table, looking for an underlying nervousness in their expressions other than that for a new school. She had a penetrating stare that even Astoria was still not used to, and a couple of the kids glanced back at Rhiannon when they could feel her looking.

“Not one,” Rhiannon said, all lethargy now absent from her voice.

“Not one what?” Astoria asked.

“Muggle-born,” Rhiannon said.

“You don’t _know_ that,” Astoria whispered.

“They heard the pure-blood thing in the song. Believe me, they would act a lot different if they was like me.”

“Maybe it didn’t register,” Astoria said, though she herself did not believe that there was another Muggle-born.

“Oh, it would have,” Rhiannon sighed.

After the feast, the Headmaster announced some usual rules and regulations and then introduced two new teachers, Professor Grubbly-Plank and Professor Umbridge. They were to teach Care of Magical Creatures and Defence Against the Dark Arts, respectively.

“Where’s Hagrid gone to?” Rhiannon asked no one in particular, furrowing her brow.

Astoria did not take Care of Magical Creatures, but Rhiannon had said that Professor Hagrid was an amusing teacher who was rather underappreciated for all of his hard work.

Then they watched the woman in pink. She was wearing clothing for which she was fifty years too old, and had a broad, wrinkled face with eyes that looked large from even such a distance. Professor Umbridge, with that pink sweater and a butterfly brooch, did not look like a Dark Arts teacher at all to Astoria, and the way she interrupted the Headmaster as he was speaking was an immense surprise. Manners seemed to have no place in the world any longer. As Umbridge addressed the students as though she was a new babysitter, people at every table began to giggle. Umbridge then lowered her voice and spoke of the importance of magical education. The second she mentioned “our ancestors,” Rhiannon spat air. Very few students gave the woman much attention throughout her six minute speech of rubbish. After the speech and a few words from Headmaster Dumbledore, Draco, Parkinson, and the other Slytherin prefects led the students down to the dungeons. The familiar room with faded floral wallpaper, large metal chandeliers, uncomfortable leather sofas, and the underwater window came into view. It had the smell of burning firewood and old books. Astoria considered it peculiarly welcoming, but it was definitely time to leave it for a good night’s rest in the tiny Room 106. Once the girls arrived there, it was not long before they fell asleep –– including Flora.

~

Four schedules were stuffed under the door on Monday morning, and Astoria discovered that she would be taking Astronomy on Mondays and Tuesdays at eight o’clock and on Wednesdays at ten-thirty. She had the Study of Ancient Runes on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, and Arithmancy on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Flora was still in Muggle Studies and Arithmancy, whereas Hestia had dropped out of Arithmancy and continued to take Muggle Studies and Care of Magical Creatures. Rhiannon was in the same elective classes as Hestia and was also taking Divination. It was time to start the new school year.

As the girls were walking to breakfast, Flora said in a tone nobody liked, “Looks like you have Astronomy tonight.”

“I do,” Astoria said.

“You’re taking your O.W.L. this year?”

“Yes.”

“I heard they’re terrible,” Flora pestered.

“The Astronomy one shouldn’t be bad for her –– right, Astoria?” Rhiannon said admiringly.

“It can’t be. I have to pass it so I can take the advanced classes in the following years.”

 _It really is the rest of your life_ , Astoria kept thinking.

Breakfast seemed to last forever, and though many students near her were talking, Astoria only heard noise. Her morning classes went much as they had the previous year. Herbology was disgusting right from day one, Transfiguration was mentally and physically exhausting, and “History of Magic” was merely a euphemism for nap-time. At lunch, Draco was reflecting on what a great Potions class he had since Harry Potter got no credit whatsoever for his potion. He said to some of the boys in Astoria’s class that they had to make a Draught of Peace, which relieves tenseness and calms agitation. Astoria would have purchased a year’s supply of those draughts in preparation the O.W.L. exam if she actually trusted the safety of the fifth years’ concoctions.

“Whoa, you look awful,” Draco said to Astoria.

“Why, thank you, Draco,” Astoria said quietly. Her sandwich was left untouched; Astronomy class was a huge shadow hovering over her.

“No, I don’t mean like that,” he said with a grin. “I meant you look ill.”

The only thing she managed to eat was her fruit salad.

“Are you finishing that sandwich?” Curtis Evercreech asked loudly from a distance away, having finished his shepherd’s pie. Astoria slid her plate down the table.

“Hey, Greengrass,” Parkinson squawked. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Why would we have seen each other?” Astoria asked.

“Did you have Charms already?” Parkinson continued.

“No,” Astoria said.

“Oh, I should have known. The room hasn’t caught fire yet.”

“Clever, Parkinson,” Astoria said and put her head down until the bells rang.

Double charms went quite well. Astoria managed to complete all of the warm-up spells without overdoing or underperforming anything. She felt much better than she had in her previous classes.

“I don’t think you’ll much care for Astronomy anymore,” Draco suddenly said to Astoria as though he was previously in some rude discussion about her. Astoria put her conversation about Transfiguration with Hestia on hold.

“Do tell me more,” Astoria jeered.

“You’re two years ahead. There’s no way you’ll make it past the O.W.L. Blaise thinks it’d be better for you to drop out and take fourth year Astronomy again.”

“Blaise thinks everyone should drop out of the whole school.”

Malfoy snorted.

“I’m telling you, Astoria, don’t let him bother you,” Rhiannon said. “He’s just upset that he can’t even point out his own namesake in the sky.”

Astoria recalled, “He’s actually not bad in the class.”

“He’s not as good as you. He knows you’re going to get the best mark on the O.W.L.”

“Well, there are several bright Hufflepuffs in my class.”

Rhiannon leaned in as if to tell Astoria a secret but simply said, “Hey, you listen to me and not him, all right?”

“All right,” Astoria conceded.

Rhiannon bit her lip when she smiled.

Astoria decided to go to Astronomy slightly earlier that evening so she wouldn’t have to walk up the stairs with the fifth-years. When she entered, Professor Sinistra merely nodded a greeting, for Astoria had caught her in the middle of eating a Chocolate Frog.

“Good evening, Professor,” Astoria said.

“Good evening, Astoria. Did you have a nice holiday?” Professor Sinistra asked as she made several diagrams of planets on her desk unfold and float in the air.

“Yes, did you?” Astoria asked.

“Were you able to see Sagittarius well last month?” the professor pressed.

“…I was; I saw it from my balcony. I had to wait until it wasn’t cloudy, though.”

“Ah, when you become an astronomer, you’ll get your licence to use Atmospheric Charms and you will not have that problem… Now, aren’t there stars with planetary bodies in Sagittarius?” Professor Sinistra challenged.

“Erm… twenty… twenty-one…?” Astoria said unsurely.

“Twenty-two,” Sinistra said, smiling faintly.

Astoria silently chastised herself.

“Welcome back, everyone,” Professor Sinistra said unenthusiastically as the fifth years began to file in and take seats at random. She was met with a few hellos containing the same level of eagerness, and then she took attendance. She had a blank piece of parchment and a quill ready at on her desk at the front of the class.

“It’s time to find a partner and write your name on the chart. I do understand that we now have an odd number due to the Ministry’s new policies,” –– her voice became more solemn than it already had been at this, and Astoria was reminded of Sally-Anne’s absence –– “so there will be one group of three. I’m sure we are all mature enough to decide who that consists of by ourselves, but I will choose the last group if you create a problem out of this. You will need to pick someone you can complete charts and projects with, so your best friend might not be the best choice. Understood?”

In an immature manner, the fifth years hurried to pair up with their best friends. Astoria remembered that she had waited for the last person the previous September, but Tracey Davis had thankfully joined her. Astoria glanced at Tracey on the other side of the room. She looked to be paired with Maxwell Lazenby, and understandably so, since they were dating. In only a matter of two minutes, almost everyone had a partner, and Astoria felt the dread seeping in. The remaining Slytherin students were Millicent Bulstrode, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, and Blaise Zabini, and Astoria could not imagine cooperating with any one of them.

 _I could have chosen a Hufflepuff, someone nice, if I had the confidence to ask,_ Astoria thought angrily. _But even having Daphne as a partner would be better than this!_

The Hufflepuffs were all waiting in line at the parchment, and no possible combination was a good one at this point. Blaise Zabini would refuse to be her partner, so she did not have to worry about him. But Parkinson was sadistic, and Millicent could always use a punching bag. The four were moving to the centre of the room to figure out the partners, and Astoria’s heart raced. She was _not_ giving answers to anybody; she was _not_ going to put up with interruptions during the professor’s lectures; she most certainly was not being paired with Pansy Parkinson. All of the sudden, Draco Malfoy didn’t seem so bad in comparison with the others, and Astoria quickly intercepted him before he went to talk to them.

“Draco-will-you-please-be-my-partner?” she asked in a more frantic voice than she had intended. He looked as though he was immediately paralysed.

“I’m-sorry-please?” she blubbered, still too frantically. “I’ll help you with the charts.”

The emotion slowly spread over his face once more, but it was not an emotion Astoria liked. She knew that impish grin all too well.

“Need a partner, do you?” he asked in a teasing voice. “Why don’t you take Millicent or Pansy?”

“Draco, don’t do this. You know I can’t stand Parkinson, and Millicent’s looked like she’s wanted to hit me since day one,” Astoria said, hushed and hurriedly. Professor Sinistra was looking exasperatedly at the remaining students –– a threatening sign that she would take over shortly.

“You can’t stand me, either,” he said with his nose in the air like he was proud of that fact.

Astoria did not dare look back at Parkinson, who was probably showing symptoms of rabies at the moment.

“I can stand you more than I can stand them,” Astoria said out of the corner of her mouth.

 _No, no_ , she thought after choking back a scream of frustration. _Don’t get emotional if you end up with the other idiots._

“Hm, I don’t _know_ …” he teased with sickly-sweet cruelty.

“All right. Sit down, Mr Malfoy,” the professor commanded. “You three over there may take the larger table in the back.”

Professor Sinistra grabbed her parchment and wrote down their names. Astoria sighed with relief as Draco sat down in the chair next to her. It would have been a living nightmare if she was with any of the other three. And one of them was staring at Astoria from behind –– she could feel it.

“Hey, Pansy,” Draco called. “Looks like I’ll be getting an Outstanding on my O.W.L. Don’t worry –– I’ll share her notes with all of you.”

High-pitched, forced laughter followed, but there was a hint of rage in it that perhaps only Astoria could hear. She was in very dangerous waters. It was sheer luck that Draco and Parkinson had been far apart at the beginning of class so that she was able to intercept him, but Astoria was not lucky that Parkinson could be hexing her later if she did not sprint all the way back to her dormitory.

“I know it’s only the first day, but we have to get moving for the O.W.L. Oh, I don’t think all of you can see these…” said Professor Sinistra, turning to face her suspended diagrams. She took out her wand and said “ _Engorgio_ ,” making one of the diagrams expand to the size of a blackboard.

“These are all of Jupiter. You should copy this first diagram into your notes. You will have an assignment on this that I’ll hand out when you are done copying. Don’t whine.”

Several students whined simply because they had been told not to. Astoria copied the diagram and made her own notes as Draco watched her like she was a specimen in a lab.

“She didn’t give us notes,” he said. “Just the diagram. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that. I take my own notes. The ones you said you’d steal. See?” she said, sliding her parchment in front of him.

“‘Jupiter has a small axial tilt, and, as such, it lacks notable seasons,’” Draco quoted from her notes. “You’re annoying me already, Greengrass.”

“You’re annoying _me_ ,” she said, pointing to his parchment which had doodles of fanged creatures. “I’m not going to give you answers because you’re my partner when you don’t make an effort. Tracey and I took notes together. She did key concepts and lists, and I did diagrams and definitions.”

“Not my style. A minute ago you were begging me to be your partner; I think you could be a little appreciative.”

“I think not. You were going to walk away before Professor Sinistra told you to sit down.”

“You don’t know I’d do that.”

“Yes, I do.”

Draco made a face and drew a lopsided shape, labelling it _Jupiter_. He took the information from the diagram down quickly and added no extra notes, just as Astoria was wont to do in Transfiguration. He then looked up at Astoria as though he was expecting praise.

“The more work you do, the happier I will be to help you later,” Astoria said.

“I don’t need help from a third-year,” Draco smirked.

“I’m a fourth-year, and a fifth-year astronomer,” Astoria returned, insulted.

“Fifth-year Astronomy _student_ ,” corrected Draco.

Astoria grumbled and continued to take her own notes as the professor went through the rest of the diagrams. Astoria was going to be stuck with Draco for the rest of the year. At the same time, whenever she thought of what it would have been like with Parkinson, Blaise, or Millicent, Draco’s presence was more and more welcome.

~

Tuesday mornings for the fourth-year Slytherins promised to be busier as it went on. After breakfast they went right to History of Magic, where they could catch another hour and a half of sleep. Astoria did not feel guilty about it; she was certain she would have paid more attention if the events in the lectures dealt with times not far beyond recall to even the oldest wizard living.

The Study of Ancient Runes was particularly enjoyable that day. Astoria and Montel were trying to translate a small script which Professor Babbling gave the students to refresh their minds. Astoria came up with “Several later nephews will endure bright sunlight during learning hours.” Montel finished with “Many secondary children will go happily into the sun in school.”

Did everyone get “Many children in future generations will have a brilliant education in school?” Professor Babbling asked the class.

Astoria and Montel nodded, and then chuckled when she walked out of earshot.

Professor Snape did not greet or welcome the students to the start of another year and put them straight to work on antidotes. Rhiannon was particularly confident with wound-cleaning potion and finished hers roughly ten minutes before Astoria. Rhiannon’s was bright purple with smoke rising slowly over the brim of the cauldron. Astoria’s was more of an indigo and had smoke that swirled.

“It should be fine,” Ginny Weasley said reassuringly from a desk over. Her potion looked very similar to Astoria’s.

They each got a phial full of their potions and brought them to the professor’s desk. Professor Snape did not think they were satisfactory, and gave them one of those teacher-specific looks that said “You can do much better than this.” He then walked over to Rhiannon’s potion, took a phial himself, and showed it to the two without a word.

“We did everything it said to do in our books,” Ginny mumbled.

“I _highly_ doubt that, Miss Weasley. How either of you could gloss over something is beyond me,” he snarled and then added, “And even one of my own students!” as he faced Astoria. It took much of her euphoria away.

Extracting magical, malodorous plant fluids in Herbology was revolting and would never fail to be so. In Transfiguration, Astoria turned a gerbil into a rabbit instead of a hare and got points taken away. She became irritable, and argued that they were essentially the same thing.

“Rabbits and hares are _not_ the same thing, Miss Greengrass,” Professor McGonagall stated icily. “I didn’t think I would need to explain how they are different species in order for you to complete this Transfiguration successfully.”

“Right, rabbits are cuter,” Astoria muttered as the professor walked away.

It was not until her first D.A.D.A. class that Astoria decided that she had a bad day.

Upon entering the classroom, the students’ noses were assaulted by a tacky perfume and the smell of drawing salve. Astoria idled in the middle of the room waiting for Rhiannon before she realised that Rhiannon was already situated in the very back of the classroom.

“I’m not sitting anywhere near that office,” Rhiannon mumbled before adding, “Bet she keeps the rest of the blue-rinse brigade camping out in there.”

Once all of the students took their seats, Professor Umbridge stood up and gave them a cheery greeting that was obviously forced. They returned with another forced greeting, some with mocking voices.

“Please put your wands away,” she instructed.

A large amount of pointless notes appeared on the board as the professor tapped her wand to it. Doing exactly what she nagged at Draco for, Astoria quickly copied them down without any deep-brain processing. Whilst the other students copied notes throughout the class, Astoria could rest.

“Well,” Professor Umbridge said, “It is to my knowledge that the students here have had mixed curriculums for each year in Defence Against the Dark Arts, many of which were not approved by the Ministry, I dare say. Not to worry, though, for we will have a _Ministry_ - _approved_ , theoretical course this year which will be _properly_ organised and thorough.”

“Theoretical…?” Rhiannon whispered. “Does she mean we aren’t doing…?”

“Hem, hem,” the professor coughed. “It appears we have a talkative student here.”

“Sorry,” Rhiannon grunted. She proceeded to rock her chair back and forth in the floor cracks –– a favourite pastime of hers for this class. It made an irksome scratching noise that she never seemed to hear.

“Everyone has their copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ , I presume?” Professor Umbridge asked.

The students nodded or mumbled “yeah.”

“I think it would be in accordance to say ‘Yes, Professor Umbridge,’ or perhaps ‘No, Professor Umbridge,’ wouldn’t it?”

“…Yes, Professor Umbridge,” the students drawled.

 _At least she’s teaching them some manners_ , _even if she doesn’t have her own_ , Astoria thought. She did not like this professor, but a full reply was always nice in Astoria’s opinion.

“Then open your textbooks and read Chapter One: Basics for Beginners,” Professor Umbridge said.

The students did open their textbooks but could not read it. It was terribly boring, and it rambled endlessly about the history of defensive magic and why _not_ to use it. The class was so monotonous and prisonlike that Astoria almost hoped that Rhiannon would make trouble of some sort. It seemed extremely odd, though, that Rhiannon was the tamest one in the entire room. She kept her head down; her fair eyelashes flicked in the bright sunlight from the windows, and it was the only way Astoria knew she was awake. The professor kept making strange little noises until Astoria glued her eyes back to the book. Thus, the toil continued, and Astoria was left with a sinking feeling that all of the D.A.D.A. classes for rest of the year would remain similar to sitting in a padded room with a malodorous smell and being forced to read words of nothingness. What made it all worse was that even Astronomy class could not make up for the dreadful time that Astoria had had in D.A.D.A.

Professor Sinistra gave a long lecture on Jupiter’s moons and then assigned more questions and an essay. She allowed the students to start on them during the rest of the class, though very few took advantage of that time. Astoria, one of the few, pushed Draco’s supplies out of her elbow space after he left their project to go talk with Parkinson. She worked on some of the questions about the Galilean moons, but three of the questions were those troublesome ones that also asked “why.” Astoria was severely tempted to write “ _Because it just worked out that way when space was made_ ” as the second part of the answer. She ended up working on her essay alone instead, though she had great trouble stringing words together. It was impossible to focus with Parkinson’s giggling echoing throughout the room. Astoria turned to see Parkinson and Draco sitting unnecessarily closely together at the back table. Astoria faced her nearly empty report again and wished with all of her might that class was over.

Wednesday’s Defence Against the Dark Arts class consisted of nothing but reading the useless book and “listening” to Umbridge blather about the Ministry and how _not_ to be protected against the dark arts. Astronomy that night had not improved. The students were supposed to work with their partners to finish the piles of homework they had been assigned, but Draco did not have that in mind. He left his homework in Astoria’s elbow room again and went to the back desk with his friends.

“Do you intend to stay back there the whole class?” Astoria called after several minutes.

She noticed that Vince Crabbe and Greg Goyle were scratching their heads at a nearby table; Draco was actually only sitting with Parkinson. He turned his head in a manner indicating that she had interrupted the most important of conversations, gave a smile full of sarcasm, and said, “Yes. If it bothers you so much, you could do my homework for me.”

Parkinson forced several ear-piercing giggles. Astoria gave the pair a scowl and continued to write her Jupiter report, with each word becoming harder and harder to form in her head. After all other noise seemed to have drowned out except for Parkinson’s laughter, Astoria made the decision to go outside and stargaze. She took her telescope and went up the spiral staircase until she reached the observation deck. A chilling wind clashed against her face as soon as she stepped outside. She set up her telescope and looked first for Capricornus, its peak height being less than a week before. Looking at the stars relaxed her, and time must have passed quickly –– what felt like twenty minutes was actually forty.

“Class is over and Sinistra’s looking for you,” Draco called from the stairwell. It made an unpleasant echo that severely startled Astoria.

“What…? Oh my,” Astoria said to herself. “Where is she?”

“In the room, crying. She rounded up the class as a search party for you,” Draco said.

“She did _not_ ,” Astoria replied. “She’s not crying.”

“All right, she sent me up here after badgering me about not helping you. As if you’d accept any help.”

Astoria folded up her telescope.

“Students aren’t allowed up here after class hours. If you don’t hurry up, I’ll give you detention,” he said haughtily.

“Stop being so full of yourself,” she retorted as they started down the stairwell.

“Me? You’re the one who’s ‘too good’ for this class, so you decided to come up here all alone and make your own curriculum.”

“I did not. I came up here to get away from that terrible girlfriend of yours.”

“Watch your mouth, Greengrass. She wasn’t even bothering you. We weren’t even near you.”

“She was certainly loud enough. I could hear her all the way from my seat.”

“If she was that loud, Sinister Sinistra would have been hysterical. I think you could hear Pansy because you were _trying_ to.”

“Trying! You’re absolutely ridiculous!” Astoria snapped as she opened the classroom door. Everyone had left the room except for the professor.

“Did you see how high Capricornus was, Astoria?” she asked softly.

“Yes. I spotted it at once,” Astoria answered. “I tried to find Sagitta, but I didn’t see it.”

“It’s so small that it practically disappears in the blanket of the sky,” Professor Sinistra muttered. “You have to focus carefully… then you will see it.”

“I’ll be sure to next time! Goodnight, Professor.” Astoria said.

“Goodnight,” the professor said.

Draco was standing by the stair railing.

“You shouldn’t have waited for me,” Astoria huffed.

“Wrong; it’d be awkward to be only twenty feet from each other the whole way back.”

Astoria had to admit that he had a good point, but a forty-five minute walk with him might drive her mad. There was nothing that could be done, though, and Astoria left the room with one of the most exasperating people she knew. She withstood the quiet discomfiture until she noticed that the door on next level down was open.

“What’s in there?” Astoria asked curiously.

“That? That’s the Astronomy library.”

“Astronomy library!” Astoria exclaimed. “How did I not know about this?”

Draco laughed. “Only the first years and the N.E.W.T. classes use it.”

“First years use it, and we don’t? What’s in there…?”

Astoria rerouted herself back to the library door, but Draco told her that the first years were coming up the stairs and needed to go in there. Naturally, children from all four Houses soon clambered exhaustedly up the staircase and filed into the library.

“The first years have to do a lot of projects, but they don’t have textbooks. They use the materials in there.”

A clumsy Gryffindor girl bumped into Draco on the stairs, and he scowled.

“You know, I’m _glad_ we’ve only two Houses in Astronomy in the fourth and fifth year. I know Sinistra does that because the material’s more important and it’s hard to get everyone’s attention, but I don’t think I could’ve taken another year of making the trip up here with the Gryffindors. Sorry to say you’ll be stuck with the other three Houses in your N.E.W.T. classes. Not everybody gets into those.”

“You aren’t taking N.E.W.T. Astronomy?” Astoria questioned him instantly.

Draco showed a perplexed expression, and Astoria regained her poise.

“Why should I?”

“When you actually try, you do well in it.”

“That must be something by your standards. I, on the other hand, am not so sure about that.”

Astoria knew that Draco was perfectly sure and was merely seeking more praise. She chose not to respond to him, but the noise of them walking down the staircase made her uncomfortable. To Astoria, the tower was always eerie when she wasn’t in a large group. Fire crackled loudly in the torches on the stone walls but failed to provide much light.

“What do you suppose is in the rest of these rooms?” Astoria asked, trying to make conversation as they passed many locked doors. Luckily, Draco was still feeling talkative even after speaking with Parkinson for ages, and his voice made Astronomy Tower much less intimidating.

“I know there’s a conference room from when the Astronomy department was larger. Sinistra’s room’s probably here somewhere, too. The rest are likely storage. I’ll bet half of them are even empty,” Draco replied. “Since you’re technically a second-year, you really haven’t seen much of this castle, have you?”

“Correction: this is my second year _here_. I am still a fourth-year. But yes, I haven’t seen much other than what’s on the way to the classrooms and Great Hall.”

“You don’t take Care of Magical Creatures, do you? So you haven’t seen much of the grounds, either,” Draco figured.

“I saw quite a bit from the Triwizard Tournament, actually. When classes ended last year, I walked round outside quite a bit,” Astoria stated.

“But you haven’t seen the Forbidden Forest.”

“That’s because it’s _forbidden_ … although I wouldn’t be surprised if you wandered in there.”

“They threw me in there for detention in my first year!” he said defensively. “It was cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Astoria revoked.

“Wasn’t too bad,” Draco said bravely.

They reached the Grand Staircase and continued down. The people in the portraits had gone to sleep, but Peeves the Poltergeist was making plenty of noise with the _CRACK_ –– _CRACK_ –– _CRACK_ of gumballs as he flicked them against the paintings to wake them up.

“What time would you say it is?” Astoria asked.

“Probably near midnight,” Draco guessed.

Astoria peeked over the handrail and looked at the stairs below.

“What are you doing?” he Draco.

“Looking for the rest of our class,” she said. “I think I saw people on the fourth floor staircase.”

“You’d rather run down the stairs to the fourth floor than walk with me?” Draco teased.

“I was curious as to how far ahead of us they were,” explained Astoria.

Astoria figured that she should try to prove him wrong, even though walking with the other students really would have been a more comfortable situation.

“So…What do you think of Professor Umbridge?

“I barely know her –– I’ve been sleeping,” he shrugged.

“She doesn’t catch you?” Astoria questioned.

“Nobody catches you when you sit behind Goyle,” Draco informed.

“You have Quidditch practise coming up, don’t you?” she asked, muffling her chuckles with her hand.

“Yeah, and we were pushing for trials today, but those idiot Gryffindors reserved the field today and for tomorrow, so we have to wait until Friday. …What, are you actually going to watch Quidditch?”

“Rhiannon will probably haul me to it,” Astoria said.

He said nothing. She pretended to cough.

“What is it like being a prefect?”

“It’ll do,” he said. “I get to scare people, but I’m also in charge of detentions sometimes. That gets boring after a while. Take my advice, and make someone else do it.”

“I don’t exactly need that advice, do I?”

“When you’re a prefect, I mean.”

“You actually think I’ll be a prefect? I don’t think I will.”

“I just thought you would, since all the teachers like you.”

“Professor Sprout doesn’t. Professor McGonagall isn’t fond of me, either. And Umbridge––”

“Umbridge doesn’t count,” he said.

“Okay,” Astoria uttered.

“Do you still have Music on the fifth floor?” Draco asked.

“No, the band and I don’t take that any longer,” she explained.

“‘The band and I!’ Aren’t you high-and-mighty,” he said.

“You’re one to talk, Draco. Do you know that our album has sold over seven-hundred copies already?”

“That so?”

“At two-thousand domestic sales, a record can be certified Silver, you know,” she added.

“Watch your nose doesn’t hit the ceiling,” Draco sniffed.

A few moments of the two trying to out-swagger one another passed before Draco enquired, “Does your family still hold their Vernal Feast?”

“No, we gave up doing that after three-hundred seventy years,” Astoria answered sarcastically.

“Is your part of the family still in, er, what was it…?”

“Penhurst? Yes.”

“Penhurst?”

“That’s merely a nicer way of saying I live in the middle of the woods near Battle. Where do you live?” she asked.

“The middle of the woods near Salisbury.”

So it was true that Draco didn’t have much in the way of social interaction as a young child, either. Perhaps that would explain his ignorance of certain social protocols. Yet as long as they weren’t speaking about Rhiannon, Draco was not the worst person with whom to have a conversation.

When they reached the second floor, Astoria’s eyes were drawn to the corridor off the landing. Dark and still, it looked as though daytime never existed in that part of the castle. A disused lavatory with a broken mirror remained haunted not only by a sorrowed ghost but also by the silenced rage Astoria was bound to sense if she ever stepped foot in it again. Astoria never truly knew Rhiannon until the girl had had a breakdown in that lavatory in May. Rhiannon told Astoria that she had been attacked by a basilisk that sensed her Muggle lineage when she was in her first year. Exposed instantly, Rhiannon faced harassment from her classmates to this day.

“You all right?” Draco drawled.

Astoria turned to him, but fell speechless. Rhiannon was almost killed for her blood status, and here was Draco Malfoy, completely content to bully her about her being Muggle-born. The only thing preventing Astoria from having a fit was the look of genuine concern on his face; her feelings about talking to him were so uncomfortably mixed. As her eyes drew to the corridor once again, she screamed and grabbed Draco’s sleeves. Yellow eyes were emerging from the depths of the gloom and rocking up and down as they slinked toward them.

“The hell‽” Draco shouted and looked in the same direction. Initially startled, his shoulders sank with relief after a moment.

“It’s that cat, Astoria. Filch’s cat,” he assured as the skinny feline ambled onto the landing.

Astoria nodded, and Draco motioned for her to continue down the stairs.

“What? Need me to hold your hand again?” mocked Draco, twisting his arm which she held.

It was true that she could not bring herself to let go of him, but it was nothing like their first meeting on the Hogwarts Express when she had wanted to hold his hand. It was what he had said to her before the summer holiday that kept her in fear. She was a target, a _target_ , and the word would not leave her head. Her mind had already convinced her that a basilisk had been sent to kill her, that the cat was not the only thing in the halls. She could both hear and feel her heart beating in her ears, and she had to retrieve something sharp to say from the back of her head in order to cancel out the emotion her body forced her to exhibit.

“…No, and if you did that, Parkinson would cut off your hands and keep them in a jar.”

Draco wiggled his fingers involuntarily.

“Huh, I remember when you used to speak like a lady.”

“Is that so?”

They left the second floor, and Astoria was able to release Draco’s arm on the stairs.

“Well, you never did around _me_.”

“Accordingly.”

Astoria recalled that the only way Draco could remember her speaking less sarcastically was by listening to her conversations in the Great Hall. It was always irritating when he did that; Astoria felt like she had to be careful of what she said even to her friends. However, she almost felt sorry for Draco; it was clear that his conversations with his friends at the table were always superficial. In fact, she never actually saw Draco in a serious conversation with anyone he was friendly with, even Parkinson. Mostly, he just joked with them. With anyone else, he would find something offensive to say. The oddest thing was that despite his apparent popularity, Draco was usually the one to speak first to get others to talk to him. He was like a ring-leader of indifferent acquaintances who had nothing better to do than listen to his snide bantering. Where was anyone who would listen to _him_?

Would it become Parkinson? Improbably. She always looked awestruck around him and could not be expected to actually catch anything he said. He most likely recognised that, but it was the only serious attention given to him, so he had to make do with it.

 _So why would he give so much attention to me?_ Astoria wondered. _I’m just the little sister of his classmate that he met on the train_.

The train. Of course, the train. He had to mention it again even though it happened one year prior. On the train, in those few fleeting moments, Draco smote Astoria when he grabbed her hand to help her off the floor. He likely saw that in her face… most people likely did. Knowing Draco’s ego, he probably appreciated it a little too much. He probably missed it now that it was gone.

There were countless glaring problems that prevented Astoria’s ease of walking with him. The first and largest issue was that Draco was a blood supremacist. The absurdity of that belief was never going to pass with Astoria; it angered her to her core. The second was that Draco was far too arrogant, especially for someone who still had forty-two seconds of Astoria’s fondness fresh in his mind. The third was that he could be appallingly inconsiderate, and the fourth was Parkinson.

 _There were more countless glaring problems_ , _right_?

Astoria swore in her head at her realisation. Draco Malfoy, minus his prejudice, minus his arrogance, and minus his selfishness would equal something half-decent after all. When he talked to Astoria about anything except those things, he had a good sense of humour. He spoke leisurely with an amusingly rural drawl that tickled in one’s ears. He was intelligent, respectably so, and it was really a wonder why he nevertheless bought into such brainless theories about blood purity. His smile had always been charming; Astoria wanted to see it more often than only when he was making snide comments, and sometimes she was able to. She couldn’t help it; she even liked the way he moved. But the scales were too tipped. She couldn’t tolerate the way he acted, and that was the end of the fantasy. It was all so horribly exasperating.

How were they near the basement already? She had been walking with him for a long time but had said so little. Perhaps if she started harmless conversations, she could actually enjoy his company. Perhaps it was possible to be friendly with Draco Malfoy… he had wanted her to say they were friends but a few months ago… perhaps she was not crazy.

“I saw your mother at Twilfitt and Tattings,” she randomly chose to say.

“I know. She was telling me what a nice young lady you were, but I knew better.”

“I think she is nice.”

Draco shrugged. “She’s more sociable than Father, I guess.”

“I haven’t really met your father.”

“That’s all right,” Draco said.

“It seems that our parents know each other,” Astoria said. It felt awkward that she was just speaking about their parents, but she didn’t have enough time to think of a better topic.

“I mean, our fathers both worked in the Ministry,” Draco stated.

Astoria was out of things to say. It must have been silly to talk about their families.

“Your mother has a job at St. Mungo’s?” Draco continued unexpectedly.

“Well, she volunteers there.”

A moment later, Draco offered, “We give a lot to St. Mungo’s.”

“So do we. It’s a good cause,” Astoria said. “They greatly appreciate it.”

“Yeah?” Draco looked at Astoria briefly.

“Of course,” she said with a smile. Watching Draco ponder charity was incredibly interesting.

“Yeah,” Draco said gauchely, “we’ve known your family a long time. My mother told me she helped your mother learn English when she first came here. Apparently your father didn’t realise he ought to teach your mother English…”

“Interesting; I was never told that. Perhaps Father didn’t realise she was coming to stay.”

“I’m sure he was eager to teach you French after that, so you could pick one up from Beauxbatons, too,” Draco laughed.

Astoria was hit with a mental pang that she had been trying to control: Philippe had not written to her since early August. He used to write more often. Astoria chose to keep the letters from him at home; they reminded her of what was absent more than what was tangible.

“I wasn’t formally taught French. We’ve always spoke it at my house along with English.”

“Oh. My grandmother came from France. My father’s ancestors came from France, too. I wasn’t taught French, though, as you know. It must not be worth the trouble.”

Astoria rolled her eyes at him.

The Slytherin common room only had a group of second years who were up past their bedtime playing exhaustive rounds of chess.

“Go to your dormitories before I get you detention with Professor Snape,” Draco threatened.

The startled second-years hesitated to move their chess pieces, but Draco was awfully intimidating to them despite his haircut. As they scurried away to avoid the much-feared detention sentence, they still managed to chatter about “Astoria Greengrass from Pariah.” Draco jumped over the back of one of the couches and lay down on it as though he had no intention of getting to bed himself. Astoria, well aware that she could later regret it, sat in the chair nearby.

“I still can’t get over that you sing,” Draco tut-tutted. “Are you going to have concerts and things like that, or are you just going to hide in your producer’s office?”

“It only makes sense that we would have concerts,” replied Astoria. The girls had really not discussed that subject yet.

“Your album was scary,” he said.

She laughed inside; she was trying to test him to see how he would carry on without at least one fight per conversation. He looked at her for a long while as though he was waiting for her to react. She did not reply.

“I liked some of it, though,” he decided to say.

“Oh?”

“I liked five songs.”

“Thanks a lot. There were ten songs on the album.”

“Rhiannon sang too much.”

“She’s part of the band, you know.”

“Yeah, but you told me you were the vocalist.”

“I sang in eight songs, Draco.”

“Yeah, but she managed to croak out something on… what? Four songs?”

“You’re so rude!”

“I’m merely giving you my critique.”

“Don’t downplay your ill will by labelling it as ‘critique.’”

“Which songs did you write?”

“…What?”

“Which were the songs that you wrote, Astoria?”

“Ah, are you going to ‘critique’ them?”

“You’re _touchy_ , aren’t you?”

Astoria straightened her back from the argumentative slouch she had assumed.

“Goodnight, Draco.”

“Goodnight?”

Draco had hardly moved from his reclining position throughout the entire conversation, and rolled his head further sideways to observe Astoria’s clear intent to leave.

“I haven’t finished talking to you. Who’s rude now?”

Astoria felt somewhat jailed in the room until she could get the upper hand in the argument. Why did everything with Draco have to be a quarrel? Astoria scrutinised him thoroughly. Every part of his façade was relaxed, yet his fingers rapped on the top of the couch’s back –– a gesture that would seem full of resolution if Astoria had not seen and heard him tapping his fingers during tiresome and difficult Astronomy tests. It was ultimately a nervous gesture.

“Well, what else would you like to say, Malfoy?”

“Coincidentally, Greengrass, I was about to say that ‘The Things Unsaid’ was my favourite song on that record of yours. I could not tell if you or Hestia had written it.”

“Are you aware that all credits are written within the booklet?”

“I didn’t _look_ at the thing. I listened to it.”

“I wrote ‘The Things Unsaid.’”

“Are you claiming you wrote it because I said I liked it?” he smiled.

It was a question so stupid Astoria could answer it with one look.

Draco then said, “I should have known it was you. It didn’t have any of Hestia’s strange innuendos.”

Astoria reclined in her chair. When Hestia wrote songs entirely on her own, as she had done with ‘Saccharine’ and ‘Ivy,’ the results were calculatedly impish. It was funny that Draco had guessed who was behind it.

“I think she’s listened to too many of those old love songs that didn’t quite say what they meant and has developed the skill herself,” Astoria said into her hand.

“Who’s she writing all that schmaltz about?” Draco joked.

“I’ve honestly no idea,” Astoria responded. It was true; if she was merely concealing information from Draco, she would have left out the “honestly.”

“Who are you writing _your_ schmaltz about?”

Even with one of the most tactless of questions posed, Draco still managed to channel all of his unease into the act of simply drumming his fingers. Astoria, on the other hand, felt her shoulders become stiff, and the act of inhaling become the act of sniffing. She wanted to say “not _you_ ” will all of the attitude she could muster, but that would only stir him up into an argument.

It was past midnight. There were classes tomorrow. Draco and Astoria were now the only occupants of the common room. He wanted her to fancy him with absolutely no intention of becoming fond of her. He wanted somebody to fluster in addition to Parkinson. Astoria was sure that he wanted to use any feelings she might have shown for him against her. ‘ _How can I complicate things for Astoria today_?’ she figured he must be thinking. ‘ _It would be_ hilarious _if she were to like me again_. _Think of all the rows I could cause between her and her Muggle-born friend_!’

Draco was still watching her think his thoughts all through, and a smile grew on his face.

“It’s hard to tell, is all. Your love songs are unadorned. There are no clues for me to follow. I figured they were about that Beauxbatons prat until I saw the face you made when I mentioned him earlier,” Draco elaborated slickly. “Did things with him fall through?”

“No, things with Philippe are fine, thank you.”

“So it is about him? Huh. Can’t say it’s my favourite song now. Too bad, it’s really catchy.”

“It actually isn’t about him,” Astoria claimed. “It really isn’t about anyone. I did write a love song, but I had no one in mind. Both my producer and my manager wanted some smoother songs on the album, and the others left me in charge of composing them and writing the lyrics. That song was one of the results.”

“All right,” Draco simpered. “Remember the whole world can hear you. Be your songs about French boys or Muggle-born rights. Just a thought, Astoria.”

He slewed his legs off the couch and left for his dorm.


	4. Boys Go to Jupiter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 4 - "Hey There" by Rosemary Clooney

“Donaghan Tremlett is getting married next month,” Rhiannon mentioned through her toast as she read the _Daily Prophet_ the next morning. She was obviously hoping to see something about Pariah, but so far, she had been disappointed. The upcoming marriage of The Weird Sisters’ bass player took precedence over a review of Pariah’s album in both the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ ; _The Quibbler_ was typically absent from music reviews in any case.

“Ooh, I’m sorry, Hestia,” cooed Flora. “He was your favourite, wasn’t he?”

“Not like that,” Hestia said defiantly. “He’s The Weird Sisters’ bass player, and I’m yours. I just admire the skill he has. His talent was what inspired me to play bass.” Hestia stirred her cereal and continued a bit testily, “But, I mean, I wouldn’t marry the guy.”

“ _Riiiight_.”

“Nothing about us, yet, Rhi?” Astoria asked courteously.

Rhiannon flipped through the paper again, making enough rustling noise to startle some of the owls that were delivering letters.

“Not a word.”

“We’ll show up soon,” said Astoria.

Her tone was meant to be reassuring, but she yawned in mid-sentence and defeated the purpose. With so little sleep, she knew there was no way she would be able to function properly that morning, and she was correct. When Peeves the Poltergeist flittered over her and Flora’s path to the Arithmancy room, Astoria jumped back just in time to Banish a bust of Paracelsus he intended to drop onto their heads. Her spell, as expected, was reflective of her mood; the stone bust flew down the corridor at top speed and shattered against the wall at the end, leaving an essence of dust in the air above it.

“That could have been _our_ heads smashing like that! Off with you! _Off with you_!” Astoria rampaged until the poltergeist disappeared.

Flora scuttled over to the broken sculpture to Mend it before they went to class.

“You’re scarier than I am when you’re sleepy,” Flora whispered as they studied Pascal’s triangle. “Why didn’t you come back to the dorm after Astronomy?”

“One, eight, twenty-eight, fifty-six, seventy…”

“ _Pssst_. Astoria. Are you all right?”

“And back symmetrically… yes, Flora, I’m all right. Thank you.”

“Why didn’t you come back to the dorm until 1:30?”

“…Was it really 1:30? Oh, my...”

“ _Astoria_.”

“Ladies!” Professor Vector called. “Five points from Slytherin. You have plenty of time to talk after class.”

Astoria definitely did not want to finish that conversation after class, and she walked to Potions in front of Max Manson, whom she knew Flora would avoid as he was chanting far past the twentieth line of Pascal’s triangle under his breath. Thursdays were the only time that Astoria had D.A.D.A. immediately following Potions, and she actually wished that Umbridge’s demeanour was closer to that of Professor Snape’s. The high-pitched voice and marionette-like movements of the subtly malicious old woman were far more disturbing for Astoria than the fact that Max Manson was still chanting numbers during lunch.

“Astoria,” Rhiannon addressed over the chanting, “You know, er, Gryffindor Quidditch trials are today. We’re gonna go and see how they do. You wanna come?”

“No, thank you,” Astoria declined as politely as she could. She still had plenty of Astronomy homework to do, and seeing the performances of the Gryffindor Quidditch team hopefuls was among the last of her priorities.

“I’ll go,” Hestia said gladly. “I bet Flora won’t, either, tho––”

“No, I don’t need to watch that,” Flora declared. “Astoria and I should actually catch some sleep.”

Astoria knew that Flora was not going to let the earlier subject go. Since Flora had ruthless insomnia, she almost always knew when her roommates came to the dormitory for the night. This was Astoria’s first offence in the time they had known each other.

“What?” Rhiannon asked as one side of her mouth curled. “Neither of you ever nap.”

“I’m not incapable,” Flora said, bringing her praying hands to the side of her cheek as an imitative pillow. “Astoria didn’t come into the dormitory until 1:30 last night.”

“Oh, wow. Yeah, you should get some sleep,” Rhiannon chuckled worriedly at Astoria.

“Yes, I think I shall,” Astoria said, shooting glares at Flora, who would soon consider Astoria’s failure with the hedgehog-to-pincushion spell in Transfiguration yet another reason to pry about her state of mind.

“So tell me,” Flora enunciated once she had ushered Astoria up to their dorm room that evening, “is it trouble with your sister? Or Draco Malfoy?”

“My sister,” Astoria lied.

“Oh,” Flora said believingly. “What did she do this time?”

“I guess, I guess it’s what she didn’t do…” Astoria played out the act.

“Ignoring you again?”

Astoria hesitated for a long time. She had to make her farce match her previous unwillingness to speak to Flora. Otherwise, Flora would catch Astoria’s change in talkativeness and know it was a lie.

“Yeah… I don’t know. I was thinking it was for Parkinson’s sake this time, which I guess is understandable since they’re good friends… But I saw her start making eyes at Timothy Morcott in Astronomy, and I remembered all that mess with Zabini, and…”

“Gosh, Morcott’s such a pretentious git,” Flora agreed.

It was true that Daphne had ogled Morcott plenty of times, yet Daphne had ogled most boys plenty of times, and Astoria knew that any rumours Flora might wish to start about Daphne would not be unfounded. Besides, Daphne would enjoy the attention.

“Don’t let her bother you, Astoria. She obviously has poor taste in friends. Ignore her like she ignores you, and maybe she’ll get the point.”

“But she’s my sister,” Astoria continued weaving her false story. “How would _you_ feel if Hestia was acting like this?”

“Hestia,” Flora said slowly as though she was having trouble juxtaposing Hestia and Daphne. “Come to think of it, I don’t think Hestia would act like this at all. Well, anyway, I mean, I’d be quite upset, yes. But listen, Daphne’s going to follow her own twisted path. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I don’t think there’s much you can do about it. You’ve already talked to her about it before.”

Astoria slumped onto her bed. Once the feeling of her pillow graced her head, she figured she would take a nap after all. Flora, quite satisfied with their little talk, left for the common room to work on Transfiguration. Astoria did not feel guilty about lying to Flora; the girl was too nosy for Astoria to feel that her intentions were only to help.

During Astoria’s nap, she had a rather objectionable nightmare in which she and Draco were running down the Grand Staircase whilst a Pansy Parkinson-shaped basilisk slithered after them. The two managed to slip into a storage closet off the kitchen, but Rhiannon was in there crying and kept telling Astoria that she had betrayed her. Flora somehow managed to fit into the tiny space remaining inside the closet and started laughing because she had shoved Astoria into Draco’s arms in order to make room. Quite frazzled, Astoria and Draco ran from the closet and found Daphne sitting on a throne and surrounded by a harem of boys throwing jewellery at her. Some of the jewellery spectacularly deflected from where the boys had tossed it and had hit Draco, at which point he started shouting “Mudblood” at Daphne, which did not make any sense at all. Astoria ran away from him and straight into Professor Moody and Professor Lupin, and both of them started screaming at her because she had left poor Rhiannon in a closet somewhere.

“Those Gryffindors…” Rhiannon’s voice resonated as Astoria was awakening.

“Ha! I know,” Hestia laughed.

“But Montague’s making sure all of our team is blokes again…” Rhiannon vented. “Oh, hi, Astoria. You feeling better?”

Astoria rubbed her eyes and dared not lift her head, only guessing about the state of her hair.

“I, I… yes, thank you.”

Rhiannon got Astoria a glass of water and sat on the foot of her bed.

“The Gryffindors don’t look so good, thankfully. But Crabbe and Goyle are trying out for Beaters, so…”

“You know you can still try out, Rhi,” Hestia said.

“Nah, I don’t have a prayer with Pucey and Malfoy there. ’Sides, I’m in a band. I can’t donate all that time to Quidditch practise.”

“Right,” Astoria agreed as though she had been part of the conversation all along, and shook off the nightmare.

~

Rhiannon must have told her roommates the results of the Slytherin Quidditch trials three times by dinner on Friday, so when Draco approached Astoria in the common room later that evening, it was old news to Astoria that he was still the Seeker. Seeing his rolled up Astronomy notes under his arm, Astoria made room for him at her little table by the lake window. A part of her wanted to have another conversation with him to make up for all the negative feelings she had about their first one. The other part of her wanted proof that he was not worth her conversations so that she wouldn’t have to think about it any longer. Thus, she held off the homework for a bit.

“So you’re the Seeker. Are you any good, though?” Astoria teased, trying to sound more interested than she was. If she was entirely amicable and Draco still managed to twist the conversation into insults, she would be able to dismiss him with no qualms. If he acted agreeably, well… she hadn’t got that far in her head.

“I’m fantastic,” Draco stated in arrogance mixed with humour.

“We’ll see.”

“Oh, decided to come to the matches, then?” said Draco as though he won a duel.

“We’ll see,” Astoria grinned.

Draco shook his head and spread out a blank piece of parchment on the table.

“Okay,” he drawled, “what’s this essay that Sinister Sinistra gave us?”

“Draco! Don’t call her that,” Astoria chided. “It’s about Jupiter’s moons, remember?”

Astoria brought out her own report, which consisted of five meagre lines.

“Oh. Yes. Just the Galilean ones, right?”

“No, all of them.”

“Aghh, I’ll call Sinistra what I want, then!”

Draco and Astoria wrote their reports quietly, careful not to include any filler sentences, for Professor Sinistra was frustratingly intolerant of the tripe that might help the students actually finish her assignments.

“I can’t remember a thing about Jupiter XVIII,” Draco complained.

“The Muggles lost track of that one,” Astoria said. “It orbits outside of any group of moons, unlike most of the others.”

“That’s the one.”

“Its orbital period is 129.83 days,” she added.

“Oh, thanks,” he said, glancing up at her.

The glance had brought her attention away from her paper briefly. She saw that Draco’s hair was getting in the way of his work as he leaned over his paper. Abandoning his cool façade because he thought that no one was looking, he kept scrunching his nose up and flicking his hair out of his way with his hand. It made Astoria smile. That was when he looked. Rather than darting her head back downward, which would be painfully transparent, Astoria simply moderated her smile and anticipated a snide comment.

“What are you wearing that grin for?” questioned Draco.

“Hm? I just thought of something,” Astoria avoided.

“What, how dull I am in Astronomy? It’s not my fault I don’t remember that Jupiter XVIII’s orbital period is _129_. _83_ days.”

“No, I’ve already said that you do quite well in Astronomy. And you’re right, I don’t see how memorising the orbital period of the smaller Jovian moons is of any importance,” confessed Astoria. “That’s what I thought of –– what difference does it make?”

“That’s _something_ coming from you,” Draco commented and continued writing, suffering through his disobedient hair because he knew Astoria was looking.

Without making any plans to do so, Draco and Astoria worked on their moon essays again the following day and made enough progress that they eventually let themselves get distracted by inconsequential conversations with one another, although the fact that Umbridge had created a position for herself called “High Inquisitor” was amongst the topics that were not so trivial.

The situation with Draco should have relieved Astoria, for it was plain that she had the ability to function with him. She would be able to make it through Astronomy class; he would not prevent her from succeeding on her O.W.L. However, the new nature of speaking with Draco only had an effect of relaxing her until the aftermath of his company when she felt tense and blameworthy. The previous year, Astoria was her friends’ main defence against Draco Malfoy. Perhaps because of their similar backgrounds, Draco implicitly held Astoria’s statements in higher regard than those of the other girls. If Astoria confronted him, he would be more likely to leave Flora, Hestia, and even Rhiannon alone. Other bully victims did not have as much luck, and often got the impression that they were feeding fire when they talked back to Draco. Without exception, if Draco insulted her friends, Astoria would not hesitate to hiss back at him, but recently, she felt she was not standing yup to him as much as her friends would have liked. It simply felt strange to be sitting there on a Saturday evening with him, laughing about the fact that his grandfather was so proud to own a large muster of albinistic peafowl. Astoria followed up with the story of her father coming home from work once with peacock feathers for a beard after his co-workers tried an experimental charm directly on him. Everything was grand until Flora came into the common room with a stack of textbooks at nine o’clock and reminded Astoria of her massive Arithmancy graph that was due the next time they had class. And Flora noticed everything about the Draco situation.

On Sunday, Draco slumped into his seat in their spot by the underwater window after his long Quidditch practice. His hair was slicked back and plastered against his crown as Astoria had never seen before; he looked somewhat elfin. Without his fringe in the way, Astoria could not glance at him whilst he wrote without him noticing.

“New look?” Astoria wondered.

“Old look,” Draco corrected. “It’s just for flying.”

“How did your practice go?”

“Fine. Warrington was slow today.”

Draco uselessly reached a hand to his head to try to move his fringe; its absence must have felt as unusual as it looked.

“I told him I’d knock him off his broom if he didn’t stop staring at your sister. You know she comes to that pitch every chance she gets?”

“Being single is _excruciating_ for her,” Astoria explained.

“I can tell,” Draco snorted. “How’s your essay?”

“I finished,” Astoria said.

“How long ago?” he asked immediately to catch her off-guard. She knew from his simpering face that she needed an excuse as to why she was still sitting at the table, waiting for him.

“Not long ago,” Astoria said smoothly. “Crabbe was walking in when I put it away. I figured I’d just wait and see if you needed to borrow my notes or something.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Draco said, surprised.

“Of course,” Astoria continued, “I’ve helped you quite a bit with this essay. I think you owe me, wouldn’t you say?”

“Sheesh, what is it?” Draco sighed.

“I’ve heard you’re good in Charms,” Astoria ingratiated.

“I am,” Draco bragged.

“Well, I still can’t do wand writing, and Olivia Shardlow made fun of me for it on Friday.”

“Wand writing? Really?”

And to make a show, Draco wrote “TOO EASY” in a nasty shade of orange on the window. It flickered at Astoria before he swept his wand backward over the words and they disappeared.

“Hey, you know, don’t _you_ ever try wand writing on these windows –– you’ll crack them, and we’ll all drown.”

“I know,” Astoria said, and Draco looked momentarily unsettled.

“Hmmm…” he then hummed as though he contained great wisdom. “When you’re wand writing, you have to focus more on what you are trying to _do_ than what you are trying to _write_. You have to treat it like a spell and not like physical writing.” He paused, and then added, “Each letter is an individual incantation, you know. You can do it really quickly, but you have to be sure to think of each letter rather than the syllable or the word. That’s where people get tripped up. Did your parents actually fail to teach you that for your first year?”

“Father wanted to teach me the Shield Charm. He said he’s seen even adults get critically injured because they didn’t cast a strong enough Shield. He might have prioritised that a bit too high; I spent nearly three months on that. Unfortunately, that did not help me with any assignments last year… But so far, Parkinson hasn’t been able to hex me, has she?”

“Huh. Well, try writing something.”

Astoria followed Draco’s advice, but found that the glowing writing had lost its shine quickly. By the time she reached the end of a word, she couldn’t see the beginning. She had lost some of her will to write; her wand definitely sensed it and got lazy on her.

“‘Pit.’ Nice try, Greengrass.”

“It says ‘Jupiter,’ see?”

“I just see ‘pit,’” Draco said, his eyes clearly catching the rest of the faded word.

“Well, whatever. Thank you, anyway. How is your essay?”

“I need a conclusion, but I really don’t want to restate all of this again. She doesn’t like repetition, and yet she expects you to close with a summary.”

“Then perhaps summarise some basic things about the moons’ similarities and differences with some examples rather than write specific details and the satellite groups again.”

“Good idea,” Draco mumbled as he squashed his writing into the last bit of space on his third roll of parchment.

The conversation that followed was of no importance. In fact, it was merely about the mishap that Tracey Nettlebed had at dinner when Amy Frome Transfigured her ham into a pair of smelly socks from across the table. It was a conversation that could afford to end, but not necessarily one that should have been cut in half. Yet Parkinson had entered the common room with Millicent and Daphne trailing behind, and Draco rolled up his report. Interrupting his own sentence with a “See you, Greengrass,” he bolted out of the common room with his girlfriend. Astoria could almost feel the dust he kicked up as he left.

Flora evidently noticed said hypothetical dust from where she was sitting, for she strolled over to what was once Astoria and Draco’s table and pronounced quietly, “He’s using you.”

“For this essay? Ha, he thought he was. I really had him doing most of his own work without his noticing it,” Astoria said strongly.

“That’s not what I mean,” Flora said unpleasantly. There was a moment of quiet in which Flora stood right over Astoria like an officious babysitter. Astoria only had to guess that Flora had figured out why Astoria had stayed up until 1:30 last Wednesday. Thankfully, Flora did not raise that subject again, but said quite brusquely:–

“Draco Malfoy is enjoying this attention you give him. In fact –– and I’m sure you’ll be _very_ proud of yourself to hear this, Astoria –– he enjoys it so much that he feels the need to dash loyally to Parkinson’s side at the sight of her due to his guilty conscience. But the more attention you give him, the more he can use against you later. I can’t tell if you’re being like your sister or if you are merely being naïve. How about this: don’t be either. Do you understand?”

Astoria was astounded and angry at Flora for thinking such things. “Naïve” was a word that cut Astoria deeply, conceivably because it had truth in it. She knew, however, that she was not being naïve in this case. She was very guarded around Draco. Astoria did not like making enemies; Draco just liked being one. Because he had not been objectionable, Astoria felt that she could talk to him. She had to get along with him to pass her favourite class anyway. She was well aware of the fact that Draco could turn at any instant, but talking to him was worth it for the time being. Yet as soon as her mind formulated the phrase “worth it,” Astoria felt her throat go dry.


	5. Foes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 5 - "Outsiders" by Au/Ra

It rapidly became apparent to the Hogwarts population that Dolores Umbridge was more than a bad professor; she was intent on imposing herself on the school in a way that had never been done before. Her goal of inspecting every instructor in Hogwarts _could_ have been constructive, but with her bureaucratic attitude and blatantly dictatorial aspirations, few students expected improvement rather than pointless disturbances from a woman who should have been teaching them how not to get killed by the Dark forces. Umbridge planned to review one regular and one N.E.W.T. class per teacher. Fortunately, Umbridge mostly planned to review fifth-year classes rather than Astoria’s class, either to see how well teachers prepared students for O.W.L.s or, more likely, because she had a grudge against the class of 1998.

At dinner on Monday, Rhiannon was gazing at the great chocolate cake that Professor Sinistra was eating, jealous that she did not have a meal as comparably unhealthy that evening.

“Ah… when do we get to go to Hogsmeade?” Rhiannon whined. “They sell cakes like that at Honeydukes, and I’m going through withdrawal.”

Astoria suggested that Rhiannon eat some fruit with sugar sprinkled on it, but Rhiannon said it would not be the same as chocolate, and she was right.

“Do you know when the first Hogsmeade visit is?” Astoria asked Draco that night as Professor Sinistra Summoned their essays to her desk and made a face at them.

“Not for another month, at least,” said Draco.

“Why do they let the teachers go but wait to send us until October?”

“Well, Astoria, they’re teachers, that’s why,” Draco smiled.

Astoria felt silly and childish. Of course they were teachers and free to do as they like. It had been a rhetorical question, just enough to keep the conversation going. What a stupid way to go about it.

“Don’t you have to go to Hogsmeade to see your producer?” he continued.

“Mr, er, Davis’s main office is in Diagon Alley, actually,” Astoria stammered, “and, well, we don’t have to go there unless we’re recording.”

“Too bad you can’t use that as an excuse to go there, then. Unless you hold a concert there before October, that is.”

“You really want to go to a concert, don’t you? Is it just so you can throw things at me from the audience?”

“Me? _Never_.”

Despite the fact that the remaining singles were released and Pariah was getting airplay on the wireless, the cheque that came for September provided only thirty Galleons for each of the girls. It came as a shock, for with other students singing their songs when they came on the wireless and with a few notable clusters of fans, it seemed strange that the sales were the lowest they had been. Flora and Hestia reasoned that since the band had reached about eight-hundred sales, and there were about one-thousand students in their school –– that is to say, in their age bracket –– everyone that was going to buy the album had already bought it. That had not been good news to Rhiannon’s ears. By the end of the week, however, Astoria saw that Rhiannon had cheered up substantially. On the first Saturday in October, the students were able to go to Hogsmeade. Rhiannon hurried to Honeydukes straightaway to seek a delectable chocolate cake. Unfortunately, the baker informed Rhiannon that he did not have any available. Disappointed, Rhiannon settled for a dozen chocolate cupcakes instead.

“Oh wait,” she said right through a cupcake, “I gotta go to th’ Hog’s Head inna bit. ’Mione Granger says Harry’s gonna givva speech about th’ Dark Arts or summmm. Any o’ you lot wanna come?”

Flora had already scampered away at the sight of Rhiannon’s half-chewed food; her mousy hair flipped wildly in the wind in a dramatic effect of which she probably was unaware. Similarly, Astoria was certain that a place such as the Hog’s Head was not her kind of environment, and let Rhiannon know so immediately. Hestia looked somewhat conflicted.

“A speech about the Dark Arts?” Hestia questioned uneasily. “What’s she mean by that? About… about You-Know-Who? Or the class? Or what?”

“I’m not sure meself,” Rhiannon grunted. “Something about both I think… I don’t know. I heard Luna Lovegood mutter something about Hermione telling her… Maybe he wants to tell people about Cedric Diggory or Lord What’s-His-Name, that’s what I figured.”

Hestia shuddered and said, “No thank you.”

“All right,” Rhiannon said. “See you later!”

Hestia and Astoria stood unguarded from wind gusts on High Street. Astoria raised her arms with her elbows pointed above her head in a silly fashion in order to guard her hair, but it was futile, for her hair was apparently very attractive to tiny autumn leaves. Hestia was blinking rapidly as the wind stung her eyes and said, “I need to go to Dogweed and Deathcap.”

“What ever for?”

“I want to try some experiments with _Scopolia_.”

“Isn’t that poisonous?”

“Yes, if you ingest a large amount. But in tiny doses, it can relieve motion sickness and some motor disorders. Things people don’t think about.”

Hestia led Astoria to a creepy little shop that had all kinds of spiked, flowery, moving, and monstrous plants piled in its windows. To add to the uncomfortable feeling Astoria had, she and Hestia were the only customers. A witch with a high collar and low hat informed Hestia that they had no potted _Scopolia_ , only seeds, and Hestia happily accepted the seeds before Astoria ushered her to Rosa Lee Teabag, a graceful little teashop in which one would never find a potted plant with _fingers_. It was there that a group of students spotted the pair and started asking them questions about Pariah.

“Flora or Hestia?” a tall wizard leading the group asked immediately.

“Hestia,” both girls said.

“Who’s the leader of the band?” a first-year girl asked.

“Er, we don’t really have a leader,” Hestia said.

“The frontwitch, then,” another witch said more directly.

“Well, I sing on most songs,” Astoria said, slightly irritated that no one seemed to have read the booklet that came with the album, “but Hestia and Rhiannon sing as well.”

“Does Flora Carrow sing?” asked a boy from the back of the group.

“No,” answered Astoria.

“How come?” the first wizard asked.

“It’s hard to sing and play the drums,” Hestia smiled.

“Are you going to have a concert on a Hogsmeade weekend?” a seventh-year witch asked.

“I think that’d be fun,” said a young wizard who looked to be her little brother.

After having heard about concerts enough from Draco Malfoy, Astoria said, more to Hestia than to the group, “We have to see if our manager can schedule one.”

“How long have you been together?” the first-year witch asked politely.

“…What was it, November of last year?” recalled Hestia.

“I believe so,” Astoria said.

Almost as a relief, the owner of the teashop hobbled over and told the group that if they were not customers, they would have to leave, for the shop was too small to hold extra people. Not long after, Hestia and Astoria made their way back to the road that Rhiannon had turned down to get to the Hog’s Head and met her there.

“How was the speech? Did you learn anything?” Astoria asked Rhiannon.

“Oh… yeah,” Rhiannon murmured. “I learnt that it don’t matter who you are as long as you’re in Slytherin.”

“How do you mean?” Hestia asked, concerned.

“I mean,” Rhiannon said as though a previous anger was resurfacing, “that even though everyone knows I’m Slytherin’s Blot, a few people still think I’m as malevolent as Parkinson and Malfoy. They even know I’m in the bloody band…”

“Who?” demanded Astoria. “Who was rude to you at that gathering?”

“Some berk named Zacharias Smith, that Lavender Brown girl, and the Weasley twins.”

Astoria saw a large cluster of students file out of the shabby pub at the end of the street and walk their way. She had Rhiannon indicate who Smith and Brown were for potential later reference.

“I’m sorry about them, Rhiannon,” said Hermione Granger considerately as she passed by the girls with Harry Potter and a Weasley boy (who was not one of the twins). “People can be so ignorant, can’t they?”

“Oh, it’s not you lot’s fault,” Rhiannon said, her face turning pink.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join? I’ll make sure those four don’t bother you,” said Hermione vaguely.

“I, er…” Rhiannon stuttered nervously. “I’m a bit tired of being the _only one_ of something, see…”

Hermione studied Astoria, Hestia, and Flora for a moment whilst the Weasley boy peeked at them from above the rim of his dirty glass of Butterbeer.

“Well, you are certainly welcome to bring your friends with you,” Hermione smiled.

“Bring us where?” Flora asked Rhiannon, who was not listening.

“I’m sorry, really. I get enough from my own House,” Rhiannon laughed anxiously.

Hermione nodded sympathetically and said, “All right. I understand,” before she left with her friends.

“What was that?” Hestia asked, sounding as pressing as her sister.

“They’re going to practice Defence Against the Dark Arts outside of class, since, well, class isn’t really a class no more,” Rhiannon said. “They’ve formed a club. I didn’t sign up.”

“Oh,” Hestia nodded. “Yeah, why do more work than necessary?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Flora disagreed with Hestia. “Professor Umbridge is not going to like it one bit, though. I’m not sure about being around Gryffindors, though.”

“Maman said we ought to read about D.A.D.A. in the library,” Astoria suddenly remembered. “I forgot to… We could do that instead by ourselves. Maybe we could learn some useful counter-curses, and I’d be happy to teach you how to make a Shield Charm. It won’t make up for the lack of a decent class, but…”

“No, that’s great,” Rhiannon smiled, alleviated.

“Ehh,” Hestia griped, “I can’t say I’m going to join you. That’s like taking two D.A.D.A.s.”

“I normally wouldn’t want to either, Hestia, but I think I have something that could change your mind,” Rhiannon said ominously.

The four girls walked back to their dormitories and removed their leaf-coated shoes. Rhiannon shoved her bed curtains out of her way and reached under her unmade bed to retrieve her suitcase and pull a bulky scrapbook out of it. She crawled onto her bed clumsily and scooted toward her pillow to make room for the other girls. Laying her scrapbook flat on the mattress in view of the other girls, she said “ _Striker the World Cup Pup_ ,” and it sprung open to the first page, which was full of newspaper clippings. Rhiannon became increasingly unaware of her curious friends as she turned each page as though she had not looked though the whole book in a while. Astoria saw a few pages torn from books about basilisks, many letters from Professor Lupin, unflattering drawings of Professor Snape and Madam Pince created by Montel Davis, a page of music that had accidentally ripped from Rhiannon’s notebook, more newspaper clippings, Rhiannon’s class pictures from last year, and even a few pages full of receipts from Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Astoria grinned; Rhiannon had kept a very nice autobiographical scrapbook. She had even saved some of her assignments and tests of which she was proud. Juxtaposed on two pages were two D.A.D.A. tests on which she had scored well. On the one from her second year, she had received an “A” and a note that said “Great job!” from Professor Lupin, whilst the previous year’s exam had the slightly less celebratory “WAS THIS THE ONLY TEST YOU STUDIED FOR?” from Professor Moody as a reward for her higher-than-usual mark. Astoria then recognised Rhiannon’s Music class reports, the strip of parchment which Viktor Krum had autographed for her with a Muggle pen, the article about Pariah that Draco had instigated, and Astoria’s own letters which she had sent Rhiannon over the summer. Finally, Rhiannon came across what she initially set out to show her friends. She lifted the clear sticky scrapbook sheet and held up a jagged piece of glass in front of her face.

“Can you see anything in this glass?” Rhiannon asked. “Be careful –– don’t get cut.”

The other three passed around the piece of glass. It had no reflection, but displayed dark, cloudy swirls of smoke and several shadowy people that seemed to blend in with the smoke as the depth of the mirror went on. The foremost person was cloaked in pink.

“Is that Umbridge?” Astoria asked.

“Think so,” said Rhiannon.

“What is this, Rhi?” Hestia enquired.

“It’s a Foe-Glass,” Rhiannon said. “It shows its owner’s enemies.”

“It’s more of a _Foe-Shard_ ,” Flora said.

“Yeah, well, the whole Foe-Glass wasn’t going to fit into my pocket when they cleared out Cr–– Moody’s room,” declared Rhiannon.

“So you _broke_ it?” Hestia laughed heartily. “Does he _know_?”

“No, I didn’t break it,” Rhiannon retorted. “It was like that when I walked in. The _point_ is… a Foe-Glass shows you how much of a threat your enemies are because their images become clearer as they get closer to causing a crisis. The images in my Foe… Foe- _Shard_ here have been getting clearer and clearer. Now, I seen Malfoy plain as day in this glass, but his and most people’s images go away or go back to being shadows. I’ve noticed there’s a group of about twelve floating round here that haven’t gone away. They keep getting clearer, I tell yeh. It’s scaring the hell out of me.”

Astoria, Flora, and Hestia all stared at the smoky shadows in the little glass.

“I’ll be happy to study D.A.D.A. with you,” Hestia piped.

~

It was almost as if Rhiannon’s Foe-Shard was trying to prove its accuracy to her roommates, for on Monday morning, Umbridge had certainly proven her rightful space inside the glass when she passed the following decree:–

–––––– BY ORDER OF ––––––

**The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts**

All Student Organisations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded.

An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students.

Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge).

No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor.

Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled.

 _The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four_.

Signed:

**_Dolores Jane Umbridge_ **

HIGH INQUISITOR

“Well, we can’t say we meet _regularly_ … Pariah is a band, and somehow, in her extensive list of words for student groups, Umbridge managed to leave out the word ‘band,’ so…” Astoria said immediately upon seeing the decree on the board in the common room.

There was nervousness in Astoria’s voice that gave it away to Rhiannon. Pariah, Umbridge would likely contend, belonged under the “Group” category. If only Professor Snape would describe to Umbridge that Pariah was actually some sort of group _therapy_ …

“That she has this much power…” Rhiannon grumbled. “Well, we’d better be on the safe side and get Pariah, er, ‘ _approved_ …’”

“I don’t know about that, Rhiannon,” Flora flapped her tongue and moved disagreeably between Rhiannon and Astoria. “Look at who we’re dealing with.”

“Flora’s right,” Hestia said. “I mean, if Umbridge has heard our album, I doubt she’s going to approve. Even if she hasn’t hear it yet, once she has…”

“What’s wrong with our album?” Rhiannon moaned. “The Weird Sisters’ve made far bawdier stuff than your songs, Hestia. Hell, I’ve heard scarier things coming from that old singer Celestina Warbeck…”

“It’s not only that. Even the sound of the album would offend the likes of her. I doubt she listens to anything coarser than the piccolo,” Astoria posed.

Hestia added, “Not to mention that apart from my lyrics, the rest of the album’s lyrics are pretty rough for someone like Umbridge. All you have to do is look at what she wears.”

“Yes, even Draco said that our album was scary,” Astoria mentioned.

“Well, Malfoy’s scared of everything,” Flora said, “but overall, that point is valid. In fact, I would not be surprised if this decree came about after Umbridge heard our album…”

“Surely you don’t mean that,” said Rhiannon.

“I said I would not be surprised.”

Rhiannon’s mind went blank for a few moments as the girls left the common room. Upon boarding her train of thought once more, she found herself riding in third-class. Was Pariah really at risk of being broken up by some old Ministry hag who marched into the school the previous month? After all that it took to form Pariah, were they being dissolved by higher-ups because they didn’t like the sound or message the band was conveying? It couldn’t be real. What would happen if they did ask Umbridge for “permission to reform?” What would happen if they didn’t?

“Astoria?” she said, falling back behind the twins.

Astoria’s pale green eyes reflected the light coming down from the Great Hall. She had stopped on the staircase and let the twins pass her; she and Rhiannon stood on the same step. Rhiannon realised that she had nothing to say, but perhaps Astoria would speak first. Perhaps Astoria already had a solution in her head. She always seemed to have the answer to Rhiannon’s problems…

“Oh, don’t worry, Rhi. We’ll figure it out,” Astoria said sincerely.

It wasn’t a solution at all, really, yet it certainly felt like one. If Astoria wanted to get the situation figured out, it was damn well going to get figured out. That was the Astoria Rhiannon knew. Astoria carried her head high as she made her entrance in the Great Hall. When she walked past Umbridge’s spot at the staff table, she still had an elegant expression on her face as though she had made up her mind that nothing was going to bother her that morning. She walked with such confident posture… Rhiannon always tried not to slouch as much when she was walking next to Astoria, but it never seemed to work. Sometimes it even backfired.

The most notable thing that backfired that morning, however, was choosing not to join Harry Potter’s D.A.D.A. group. Merely trying to save herself any further scorn in school by doing so, Rhiannon instead ended up being confronted by Harry’s friend Ron Weasley on her way to Herbology.

“Think it’s funny to squeal to Umbridge, do you?” Ron spat.

Of course! A group run by Gryffindors would immediately blame the only Slytherin that showed up to their meeting. In a way, Rhiannon could not blame them, but she did not appreciate the immediate hostility. It had been a bad coincidence.

“Hell no. I wouldn’t talk to Umbridge if you paid me,” Rhiannon shot back, trying to get around Ron. He blocked her.

“That’s odd, you know, since we’ve got the sign-up sheet jinxed so that if anyone rats us out, their face’ll break out. _You_ ’ _re_ the only one not on that paper. I oughta put the jinx on you face-to-face!”

“I’m telling you, I didn’t do it. Why would _anyone_ wanna help out Umbridge?”

“Dunno. Maybe so your ruddy old House will _like_ you more!”

Rhiannon’s face froze in anger. Who was this Gryffindor to speak to her like she was trying to ingratiate herself to the rest of the Slytherins because she had always been “Slytherin’s Blot?” She’d hate them all if not for Astoria. How dare this boy. The only damn Slytherin part about her was that she didn’t hesitate to reach for her wand.

“Ronald!”

Hermione Granger and Harry Potter arrived at the scene of the conflict, carrying their books for History of Magic and looking rather drained. Ron became quite unsure of how to react when Harry vouched for Rhiannon’s innocence. Hermione firmly told Ron that the informant could have been other customers in the Hog’s Head, as Rhiannon would be the last person in the school to show loyalty to anyone who looked down on minorities like Umbridge did.

“Oh. Right, er, sorry,” he said to Rhiannon before leaving with his friends for his history class. He looked askance back at her whilst walking away, but Rhiannon kept stone-faced until she saw Luna Lovegood spinning toward the greenhouses and remembered that she had to get to class.

After D.A.D.A. the following afternoon, Flora suddenly showed the first sign of interest in defending Pariah, perhaps having been prompted by the nearly intolerable coursework.

“I’m going to go speak to her,” Flora said huffily. “To Umbridge.”

Astoria had a different plan in mind and said, “I wouldn’t waste your time with that woman. We shall write to the record company and get them to ‘approve’ us. She’s more likely to pay attention to a document with a fancy seal on it than to a group of fourth-years.”

“No, no. I want to get this out of the back of my mind _now_. Umbridge never comes after me anyway,” Flora insisted.

“That’s because you’re already no fun.” Rhiannon mumbled.

Flora looked somewhat hurt, and Rhiannon wished she would not have said that, however true it might have been. Flora had said plenty of rude things to Rhiannon in the past, though, and Rhiannon was already in a terrible mood.

“That must be it,” Flora said bitterly.

But even no-fun Flora could not appeal to Umbridge, as it turned out. The girls were clustered at the very end of the table at dinner and listening to Flora relate her story. Well, at least Hestia and Astoria looked like they were listening. Rhiannon was quite distracted by the fact that Professor Sinistra was eating another appetizing chocolate cake from Honeydukes. Rhiannon did manage to hear Flora say that Umbridge taunted that she would “‘have to think for a _long_ time’” before she would grant Pariah permission to “‘reform.’” Astoria then made up her mind to write a letter to Mr Mongaby, their manager.

Speeding away from the dinner table and forcing Rhiannon to stop fantasising about the cake, Astoria led the girls to the common room, where she brashly removed the copy of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four from the bulletin board, and then walked to the dormitory to start writing the letter straightaway. Rhiannon took the effortless liberty to peek over Astoria’s small shoulders whilst she wrote:–

 _Dear Mr Mongaby_ ,

 _The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has recently passed a decree_ , _enclosed here_ , _under which our band Pariah is currently –– as she put it –– “disbanded_. _” Flora Carrow has appealed to our High Inquisitor_ , _as the decree said to do_ , _but the current state of the band_ , _said the High Inquisitor_ , _is still disbanded_ _until a currently unspecified time_.

“You know, Astoria, I heard that Umbridge is frisking owls… if she reads this letter, she won’t be happy,” Hestia timidly mentioned.

“Oh, I know. I haven’t finished the letter yet. I have some inveigling to do,” she chuckled.

 _Therefore_ , _I must ask you to inform the record label that Pariah is disbanded under our High Inquisitor_ ’ _s careful discretion_. _When she sees that it should be fitting_ _for us to reform_ , _I will notify you_. _I believe that under our contract_ , _our record label will be unable to receive any pay for our records that sell during this hiatus_ , _but I trust that our High Inquisitor shall not keep us inactive for very long_.

 _Most sincerely_ ,

_Astoria N. Greengrass_

“That’s brilliant, Astoria,” Flora said, a baleful smile spreading across her face. “Umbridge will be so flattered at your obedience. I doubt the record company will waste any time in helping us if they aren’t going to make any money.”

“You _did_ put it well, Astoria,” Rhiannon beamed, sorry only that she was the second to express her appreciation.

Hestia looked somewhat grumpy for not having thought of the technique herself but was pleased with the result nonetheless. Rhiannon offered to walk with Astoria to the Owlery, to which she happily agreed. Astoria ended up sending Rhiannon into the soiled little turret alone and charmingly explained that she was going to have Rhiannon to all of her dirty work for her. Rhiannon did not mind.

Pariah’s lucky day fell on none other than Friday the thirteenth when a copy of an exhaustive document that had been sent to Umbridge that same morning arrived during their breakfast.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

In.fine.it Records

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

October 11, 1995.

 _To_ : The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Ms Dolores J. Umbridge

After careful consultation amongst the authors of this letter, we have found that Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four in relation to the band Pariah, consisting of Ms Flora Carrow, Ms Hestia Carrow, Ms Rhiannon Clarke, and Ms Astoria Greengrass, is void.

The aforementioned decree stated the following:

“All Student Organisations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded.”

The High Inquisitor reserves a right to pass such a decree that exists as a policy for student organisations, groups, et cetera. In the case of the band Pariah, we inform the High Inquisitor that Pariah is not a student organisation, society, team, group, or club. The preceding conclusion is founded on the following details.

  1. Pariah cannot be placed under the “student” category despite the fact that its members are all students attending the school under the investigation of the High Inquisitor. The preceding conclusion is founded on the following details.
  2. The members of Pariah are no longer taking the Music class overseen by Professor Filius Flitwick, and, as such, are not dependent on class instruction in relation to their band.
  3. The members of Pariah are not members of the Hogwarts Orchestra overseen by Professor Filius Flitwick, and, as such, are not dependent on the instrumental group.
  4. The members of Pariah are not members of the Hogwarts Frog Choir overseen by Professor Filius Flitwick, and, as such, are not dependent on the vocal group.
  5. The active status of Pariah cannot be determined by the High Inquisitor, for the jurisdiction lies with the authors of this letter. The preceding conclusion is founded on the following details.
  6. Pariah, its members, and its production team are not endorsed by Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is correspondingly not endorsed by Pariah, its members, or its production team.
  7. In.fine.it and the associated company Wizarding Wireless Network are endorsed by the Ministry of Magic under the Media Relations Department of the Ministry of Magic, and as such are endorsed by the Minister of Magic ( _See Media Relations Act Amendment XII_ ). Similarly, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts is endorsed by the office of the Minister of Magic. The subject in question therefore appears to be a misunderstanding of interdepartmental jurisdiction.



Therefore, be it resolved that the band Pariah, consisting of Ms Flora Carrow, Ms Hestia Carrow, Ms Rhiannon Clarke, and Ms Astoria Greengrass, is to be acknowledged and approved by the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, for it is acknowledged and approved by Media Relations Department of the Ministry of Magic, owned by In.fine.it Records, and not endorsed by nor endorsing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Signed:

**Leonard Mongaby**

In.fine.it Artist Manager

**_Milton Hannity_ **

Head of Media Relations Department of the Ministry of Magic

**John Davis**

In.fine.it Executive Producer and Music Producer

**Glenda Chittock**

Wizarding Wireless Network Programme Director and Host

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“What the heck was all that?” Rhiannon gasped after reading the dramatically extended piece of parchment. “I love it!”

“I think that settles it,” Astoria said clemently.

The twins nodded happily, and Rhiannon felt unimaginable relief. Noticing that several students at their table had begun to stare at them, the girls soon found that articles about Pariah’s début album had at long last appeared in _Witch Weekly_ and the _Daily Prophet_. The one from the _Prophet_ was surprisingly neutral; it merely gave some of the band’s statistics and chronicled the chart positions of _Fed Lines_ , stating that it was currently at number ten of ten on the UK Top Wizarding Albums Chart. Unfortunately, the _Witch Weekly_ one was quite unforgiving.

**EAT YOUR VEGETABLES:**

**“FED LINES”**

G. Shardlow

When a bunch of Hogwarts students get together to make an album on the large scale, it’s a shame they couldn’t have shown that they’d been taught better.

 _Fed Lines_ was suspiciously released through the famed In.fine.it label on July 9. It’s sold about 900 copies to date, but I’m left to assume that most of those purchases are from school friends searching to ingratiate themselves with a group of girls whose names can be found on a promotional poster plastered on the window of Diagon Alley’s WWN building. And I’m not even surprised that the kids are overlooking such a ridiculous Muggle guitar.

The girls of Pariah are about fourteen years old, and their vocalist is unashamed to sound her age. If it wasn’t for that, you might have actually been fooled into thinking that they were a group of recent graduates trying to make some money by singing everything between tired lyrics like _Sweet Nothing_ ’s “I don’t ever want tomorrow to become today” and _Ivy_ ’s suggestive mention of being “tangled.”

Speaking of ivy, some of my older readers might remember the funny little proverb: “A Greengrass is a special sort of weed that picks and chooses how to spread.” Well, it’s no surprise that Pariah’s vocalist and principal source of money is Astoria Greengrass, the youngest daughter of Adam Greengrass, who left his job at the Ministry this summer after having been asked _once_ to help another department. That name alone would solve the mystery as to why a band like Pariah would end up on In.fine.it instead of an underground label.

I’m not really sure what they were trying to do with this album, and it’s safe to say that they didn’t know either. One minute I’m holding my ears against the assaulting symphonic metal song “Useless” and the next I’m listening to the sound of piano rock in “The Things Unsaid.” Later we’re back to more lyrics that are too inappropriate to be written by a group of new fourth-years. Next time, Pariah, take some advice from The Weird Sisters. **★**

“Don’t have much advice to give, do they? _They_ ’ _re_ the ones singing about Hippogriffs…” Hestia sneered.

“Perks of being a drummer…” Flora, the only one not specifically insulted, mumbled.

Rhiannon looked at Astoria, whose hands were still pressed flat against the open magazine on the table. The insults to her singing must have been terrible for her to read. It was true that Astoria’s singing voice was delicate, but Rhiannon thought it gave a sort of calm, melodic beauty to songs that were otherwise harsh and raw. Despite the horrid review in front of them, Rhiannon could only feel pride.

“You know Olivia’s mother wrote this rubbish,” Rhiannon told her. “You know, Olivia, one of the bitches from my old dorm––”

“I know Olivia,” Astoria said, closing the magazine.

“Well, I’d like to see that woman try to make better music than us. Y’know, Astoria, I love your voice. This woman doesn’t like Muggle-borns, see… Guess she doesn’t like people with more money than her, either. Real sore about it all, ain’t she? I bet she wishes her worthless daughter was as talented as you.”

“You flatter me,” Astoria sighed, trying to ignore the rest of the people at the table as Olivia and her lot passed the magazine round.

“Yeah? I’m trying to, actually,” Rhiannon laughed.

“Thank you,” Astoria sighed. “Thank you for supporting me.”

“Yes, I’m the one who wrote that song!” Hestia suddenly shouted to a group of Ravenclaws who were sniggering and looking her way. “Sure hope I didn’t make your morning _uncomfortable_.”

Parkinson and Diane Carter looked to be conspiring about the best ways to broadcast the article to the entire school, but Rhiannon advised Astoria not to pay them any attention. Rhiannon could tell that Astoria had been hurt more than she had been by the article. Shardlow had directly insulted her voice and her family as well as implied that she did not belong in the band. However, Shardlow could not have been more wrong. The combination of Astoria’s voice and piano with the rest of the band’s heavy rock approach provided a fun sound that Rhiannon had not heard in others’ music. She was what made them stand out from the bands on underground labels. She was the one with the soft and enticing voice that the band needed to make one’s spine still manage to tingle in the middle of a rock song. She was an integral part of a group of four girls blending their ideas artistically to make Pariah. Rhiannon kept telling Astoria these things, albeit not very eloquently, until Astoria no longer wore such a troubled frown. When Tracey Nettlebed later asked Astoria, “Is it true that you bought the record label?,” Astoria replied snidely that she “had once thought about it.”

~

By Monday, a very favourable review of _Fed Lines_ appeared in the _Daily Prophet_ , and another columnist in _Witch Weekly_ indirectly criticised Shardlow’s article whilst giving the girls a reasonable review. Astoria saw Rhiannon cutting out both articles, no doubt to put into her scrapbook. All four of the girls were motivated and started catching each other writing in the band’s notebook again. They were additionally eager to begin studying D.A.D.A. topics, and they thought of places in which they might practise. It was not long before Astoria remembered the Astronomy library she so wished to visit.

The four girls were travelling to Madam Pince’s library after their last class when Flora realised how much trouble they would be in with Umbridge if it looked like they had made an unofficial study group. In a very authoritarian fashion, Flora gave Rhiannon, who had volunteered to enter the library, strict instructions to rent only one D.A.D.A.-related book and camouflage her intentions by renting one charms-related book to go with it.

“Remember that all rentals are recorded, and the pink woman will take to peeking at all of those, too. Just get _one_ , and make it good. Not too good, mind you, we can’t have you walking out of there with books along the lines of ‘ _Learning Defensive Spells_ : _A Book_ _for Ripped-Off D.A.D.A. Students_.’”

“Gotcha.”

“We’re going back to the common room. Keep the book in your bag and meet us there. We’ll look at it in the dormitory. Understand?”

“Gotcha. See you lot later.”

Astoria and Hestia eagerly awaited Rhiannon’s return since Flora had made such a big deal about it, but soon, she came back with the books uneventfully.

“You know Pince doesn’t let you rent newspapers?” Rhiannon said meditatively as Astoria unlocked the door to Room 106.

“The vast majority of libraries don’t allow people to take _out_ the newspapers. They’re there for archival reference, but they can’t risk people mishandling history like that,” explained Astoria.

“Yeah, well, it’s not too good for anyone who wants to read a newspaper and has to be stuck in there with crotchety old Pince to do so.”

“So what did you get for us, Rhi?” Hestia asked after they situated themselves on the edges of Astoria’s and Rhiannon’s beds.

“ _Self-Defensive Spellwork_ ,” Rhiannon answered, pulling the book out of her satchel. “And some O.W.L. study book for Charms.”

“Ah, an excellent choice, Rhiannon,” Flora said, “but what is the other book you have there? You thought I wouldn’t see? Umbridge is going to know.”

“Flora, I know she came after us, but I don’t know why you’re so paranoid,” Rhiannon said.

Astoria watched, but didn’t want to get in between those two. Flora snatched Rhiannon’s satchel and pulled out the thick, old book that smelled of mildew. On the cover, in a disturbing shade of red, was written ‘ _The Complete Book of Dementorology_ by Dirk Kirkwall.’

“I _told_ you not to get more than one D.A.D.A.-related book!” Flora reproached.

“That one’s for me,” Rhiannon said casually.

“Umbridge isn’t going to care which book is for whom!”

“Shut it, Flora! One extra book is not the end of the world,” Hestia defended.

“Very well, then, let’s have a look at some spells, shall we?” Astoria finally intruded, and the argument ended.

Throughout the week, the girls studied passages on protective spells and found that they could all learn the Human Revealing Charm in the safety of their dorm. During lunch on Wednesday, before Umbridge’s class, Rhiannon’s nose was brazenly in her book on dementors.

“Remember when there were dementors all about the place in our second year?” Hestia conversed. “That scared the hell out of me. I heard that there are master wizards and witches who still can’t produce a Patronus Charm.”

Astoria listened closely. It was still hard for her to picture dementors near the school, even though someone had died on the grounds last summer.

“Yeah, that was something, having dementors on the property,” Rhiannon uttered. “The Ministry lies, you know, says they’re trained, but they ain’t too trained in my opinion. Bloody awful, these things. Wish I could write to Professor Lupin –– he’s really good with Patronuses, y’know –– but with Umbridge spying on everybody, that’s not a good idea at all.”

“I could never sleep that year. Flora and I both never slept, did we, Flora? I’d hate to think of what could have happened if one got in the school…”

“Dementor’s Kiss,” Rhiannon said straightforwardly, and several surrounding students looked at her uneasily.

“What is that?” Astoria asked. “The Dementor’s Kiss. I’ve read of it in regards to something at Azkaban, but Maman and Dad don’t like me reading the newspapers…”

“Dementors feed on happiness, positive energy, and health. That’s why if you’re around one, you about wish you were dead. They absorb it, like. But the Kiss, it’s… the Kiss isn’t absorption, it’s actual ingestion. A dementor hooks onto your mouth and eats your soul. Then you’re brain-dead.”

Astoria probably could have gone her whole life without hearing that over a plate of biscuits. It was no wonder why her parents tried to shelter her from certain things.

“Brain-dead?” Hestia said, stunned. “Wait, I thought it actually killed you.”

“No,” Rhiannon’s voice turned terribly sour. “No, your body still functions but your soul is gone. Azkaban used to just kill the bodies, but now they keep them on tubes so they can tell when the legal dates of death are and so it don’t _qualify_ as execution. Now they don’t have to say it’s execution. The dementors are trained to immediately perform the Kiss on any escapees. Sure is a motivation to stay in Azkaban, yeah?”

Flora, clanked her teacup against her plate.

“What happens to the soul after that? Is the Ministry seriously detaining _souls_ now?”

“One minute,” Rhiannon said, flipping back several pages in her book. She quoted:–

“Whilst a soul is digesting in the stomach of a dementor after a dementor has performed its Kiss, the soul cannot pass into the afterlife. Only after the dementor has digested all the soul’s happiness will the soul pass on. The exact time to pass varies from person to person but can be measured precisely in each subjective case from the time the individual was Kissed to the time the body itself dies and the dementor requires more food. One wizard named Henry Harkley took forty-two years to pass on after being Kissed, whereas the average time for an Azkaban prisoner to pass on is reportedly four years.”

Rhiannon had gathered the attention of more students at the table, all who totally ceased eating upon hearing the revolting subject. Flora’s reaction was limited to a horrified expression on her face and the sound of her teacup rattling against her saucer as she tried to hold it in place. Hestia was wiping her forehead, and Astoria felt too queasy to sit up straight. Her mind could barely comprehend the horrific information that Rhiannon presented, but her body seemed to. She was shaking worse than Flora. Rhiannon mothered her upon seeing her horror-struck expression; it did not really help.

Perhaps, she considered after regaining her ability to think properly, she could use her verbally-induced nausea to go to the hospital wing during Umbridge’s class. After all, it was better than taking those iffy pills that were being sold by the Weasley twins. Yet Astoria decided against it, for Flora and Hestia had heard the same things about dementors, and were coping. Astoria still couldn’t conquer the dreadful feeling that she must _never_ act in a way to indicate that she shouldn’t have been advanced a year in school. As such, she suffered doubly in Umbridge’s class and took a restless nap before Astronomy. There, Astoria could not even bring herself to smile when Draco was teasing Heather Thatcham, who looked to be ogling Vincent Crabbe when he got in the way of her proper view of the far more attractive Theodore Nott.

Astoria woke on a cold Thursday morning after a night full of terrible dreams about losing her soul in the woods. She lay huddled beneath her blankets for some time before Rhiannon let out a great snort which prompted Astoria to start getting ready for another day.

On the way to breakfast, the four girls nearly collided with Parkinson and Draco, who were holding hands and walking thirty times slower than necessary. Upon manoeuvring round the oh-so-delightful couple, Parkinson started an offensive imitation of Astoria’s singing which carried throughout the corridor long after the girls had passed her. They found a spot at their table near Daphne and Heather Thatcham, which although was not desirable, could have been worse. Astoria was at least happy for her sister’s sake, for she seemed to be getting along with her new dorm mate Heather after all. Just before the food started appearing on the tables, a great brown owl swooped over Astoria and delivered a letter from Mr Mongaby. Apprehensively, she opened it. It was very impersonal but contained good news. _Fed Lines_ , he wrote, would be released internationally on Halloween in ten other countries. Astoria yelped delightedly and started repeating the message in the letter to her bandmates as they all tried to read it themselves.

“Blimey! An international release!” Rhiannon gasped.

“They probably just want to get more money from it…” Flora said.

“Then we’ll be getting it, too!” Hestia exclaimed.

“Your album’s being released internationally, Astoria?” Daphne overheard.

Astoria was not sure if Daphne had even bothered to listen to the album and was was taken off balance as her sister suddenly showed some interest.

“Yes, it is…”

“That’s really neat that you and your friends recorded an album,” said Heather politely.

“Oh, er, thank you,” Astoria said.

“So is it being released in France?” Daphne asked keenly.

“Yes.”

“Oooh… Philippe can hear it then!” Daphne crooned.

Astoria felt her face drop. Two and a half months and Philippe had still not written to her. Astoria found herself in an oxymoronic combination of too proud and too shy to write to him first after all of that time. Daphne could see Astoria’s brooding and said:–

“Well… Heather, Millie, and I are going to watch the Quidditch practices today. Our House practises first, and then the Ravenclaws come after. Why don’t you come with us?”

Despite herself, Astoria agreed to go if only to spend time with her distant sister. It was strange to part ways with her best friends that afternoon and find herself in the company of two essential strangers and an amicable Daphne. The group took some uncomfortably high seats on the pitch and awaited the arrival of the Slytherin team. Daphne made quite the show of flirtatiously playing with her hair as they came to the centre of the field; she received a wolf whistle from Chaser Adrian Pucey in return whilst Heather took advantage of the team’s attention to make eyes at another Chaser, Cassius Warrington.

“Aw, Draco looks so lonesome. Where’s Pansy?” Daphne chuckled.

“McGonagall put her in charge of a trio of first-years who had detention tonight. She was _not_ happy,” Millicent reported.

“Sheesh. I’m glad I’m not a Prefect,” said Daphne.

The team took flight and began to play, letting free two Bludgers and the Golden Snitch and passing the Quaffle whilst hoping that their Keeper would be able to block it.

“Miles Bletchley’s pretty cute, isn’t he, Millie?” Daphne squeaked.

“…Huh? Yeah,” Millicent said.

Astoria thought that Millicent could not have put it better than “…Huh? Yeah.” Miles wasn’t so bad, but he wasn’t worth craning one’s neck.

Draco lived up to his bragging. He was a very good Seeker after all –– so good, in fact, that Astoria wished he would slow down some so she could get a better look at his amusing hair. But unless he was stopped and searching the pitch for the Snitch, all that could be seen of him was a green blur with a humorously bright top. Daphne and Heather were talking about the looks of the boys more so than their actual playing, and Astoria was quite embarrassed when she was the only one who cheered when Draco caught the Snitch.

“Greengrass? What are you doing here?” he shouted down to her.

“Judging you!” she called back light-heartedly.

Draco smiled and let the Snitch go again to continue his practising. When the Slytherin team left and the Ravenclaws arrived, Astoria felt somewhere deep down that she had seen all she needed to see and was beginning to waste her time.

“ _Hey_! How are my favourite cousins doing?”

Asenath Greengrass had walked onto the field, having gracefully sneaked herself between Ravenclaw supporter Swati Pevekar and Ravenclaw Beater Joan Kerridge. Giving a parting smile to the girls, she ran all the way up to Astoria’s group’s seats.

Asenath was a Gryffindor in Daphne’s year; her attributive red and gold tie swung loosely against her vest. Asenath was Uncle Faunus and Aunt Elly’s daughter, and like them and most of her siblings, she was recognisable as Gryffindor without the tie. To demonstrate, Asenath was walking round with her blouse’s sleeves pushed up to her elbows, revealing a vicious tattoo of a lion on her right arm amongst a jumble of runes which, Asenath was under the impression, read her name. Her other arm and the rest of her body was known to be covered in tattoos as well, though many of them were in places best left clothed. She was sporting large, gold, hoop earrings and had apparently got a tongue ring since Astoria last saw her up close.

“Favourite cousins?” Daphne disputed. “You say that to all of your cousins.”

Asenath ran a hand through her carefully cut black hair.

“Hey, a girl can have multiple favourites, can’t she?”

Astoria scoffed, “That rather undermines the definition of a _favourite_ , dear.”

“Oh, hush up. So,” said Asenath, moving past Daphne and Astoria effortlessly, “who are these lovely ladies stuck sitting with my cousins?”

“Me?” Millicent asked genuinely.

“I’m Heather Thatcham, and this is Millicent Bulstrode,” the other girl interrupted. We’re stuck in Daphne’s dorm, too,” she joked.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Asenath said, smiling at Daphne, who in turn shared an annoyed look with Astoria.

“I’m Asenath Greengrass. I’m from the fun side of the family. Perhaps you remember my sister Ansel? She graduated from Slytherin last year.”

“Yes, I remember…” Heather said, then turned to Millicent. “These Greengrass girls all had such pretty dresses for the Yule Ball, didn’t they?”

“ _Hmm_? Oh, I recognise you two, and your dresses were much prettier than the ones we la-di-dah Greengrasses wore. I can see you have the smiles to match,” Asenath sniggered.

Millicent’s face looked to be roasting, and Heather was grinning quizzically.

“Well, I’ll see you lot,” Asenath said smoothly, and flicked Astoria’s nose, which must have gravitated upwards in distaste.

“ _Mer_ -lin! She makes me sick with all that sweet talk,” Astoria whispered.

“Oh, I know… and she dumps everybody anyway,” Daphne scowled. “Biggest womaniser in the family, save for Zéphir.”

“ _Womaniser_?” Heather gasped. “She was only joking with me!”

“She’s been a womaniser since the second year,” Daphne sighed. “Of course, knowing Uncle Faunus…”

“Haha! It’s a good thing he met Aunt Elly before Hogwarts let them loose,” Astoria noted.

“Gosh, I’ve never been hit on by a girl before,” laughed Heather. “I’m not like that, though, but I guess it’s a compliment, isn’t it?”

“It _would_ be a compliment if it wasn’t Asenath,” Astoria said. “She’s…”

“She’s crazy!” Daphne exclaimed. “I mean, I’m a shameless flirt, and I could really do with a hot boyfriend… but Asenath’s on a _whole_ other level. I don’t think she wants an actual girlfriend, just a –– a flame. Oh, she makes me so mad, parading around with _our_ last name…! Oooh, look it’s Roger Davies…”

The other three girls laughed at Daphne’s diverted attention when the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain took to the sky. She and Asenath were not _that_ different.

Astoria entered the dormitory later and saw Flora and Hestia reading _Self-Defensive Spellwork_ on Hestia’s bed.

“I already _know_ the Revulsion Jinx,” Hestia huffed.

“And the Full-Body Bind Curse, and the Leg Locker Curse…” Flora said. “Hello, Astoria. I think we’re ready to start practising in the Astronomy library. I think that you and Rhiannon should be the guinea pigs tomorrow by practising there before we all go up.”

“Why me?” Astoria complained.

“Sinister Sinistra likes both of you,” Hestia said. “She’s been weird lately.”

“Yes, why don’t you go fetch Rhiannon now so we can get that D.A.D.A. report for Umbridge finished before you venture into dangerous waters?” Flora said.

“Where is she?”

“In the library,” Hestia said. “I’m coming with you.”

“You are not!” Flora insisted. “I have to practise my Revulsion Jinx on you more.”

Hestia jokingly mouthed “Help me” as Astoria left the room.

After dodging glares from Madam Pince, Astoria found Rhiannon in the very back of the library. She was sitting at a large round table that was covered with extremely brown newspapers.

“Would you believe there are so many dates missing?” Rhiannon said with her stuffy-sounding nose in a paper. “It’s like it’s on purpose.”

“What are you doing?” Astoria asked, squinting in the dark.

Rhiannon’s puffy eyes shot up at Astoria and she blabbered, “I’m, er, researching the Cruciatus Curse. Remember that book Flora had last month?”

“You mean that creepy legal book about Dark magic?”

“That’s the one. There was this one case back in the early 80s––” Rhiannon swished her wand to place the newspapers back on their rack before Astoria could peruse them herself. “They convicted someone of using the Cruciatus Curse without evidence. Mind you, they had evidence for other things, but not for the cast. I mean, that’s got nothing to do with anything, really. I thought these papers would have some information about the curse, but it’s mostly about that weird case… and Pince isn’t stocking all the ones about that, because, well… Guess it was a wasted effort, but I’ve nowhere better to be. So how was Quidditch?”

Trying to grasp Rhiannon’s monologue, Astoria confusedly said, “Quidditch was all right.”

“Is our team still doing well?”

“Well, Draco and Adrian Pucey were doing well, but…”

“But the rest of them were lookin’ at your sister?”

“Correct.”

Back in the dormitory, Astoria and Rhiannon made plans to go to the Astronomy library the next night when the third-years would be busy in class above them and Umbridge would no doubt have turned in for bed. There, they would start by practising some small-scale curses and counter-curses.

Astoria and Rhiannon made sure to take long naps after their classes on Friday, for they intended to sneak up with the third-year Slytherins who had Astronomy at eleven-thirty that night. Rhiannon had the daring idea to use Colour Change charms to disguise themselves from those who would otherwise recognise the band members in their House. As such, the sleepy third-years paid no attention to a blonde and blue-eyed Astoria nor to the red-lipped, dark-haired Rhiannon. They even suffered through altering their hairstyles; Astoria tied her hair up and Rhiannon let her hair down. At a curve in the staircase near the upper rooms, Rhiannon and Astoria stayed with their backs against the wall and waited for the sound of the shutting classroom door.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” Rhiannon cast upon the library door’s lock, and they crept inside.

“I am _never_ doing this again,” Astoria grumbled.

“This is the safe part,” chuckled Rhiannon. “Umbridge is sleeping. We’re coming in the afternoon after this.”

“At least it won’t be after curfew!”

“Y’know, I think you oughta get a permission form from Sinistra to have access to this library. Then we’ll be worry-free,” Rhiannon considered.

“If she says no, though, then we can’t come up here at all,” Astoria cautioned.

“What makes you think she’ll say no to her star pupil? …No pun intended.”

“I don’t know. I thought about what Hestia said. She seems different lately.”

“You just don’t want to ask her.”

“No, I’ll ask…”

“ _Finite Incantatem_ ,” Rhiannon said, sweeping her wand across Astoria’s face.

“What? Shouldn’t we stay like this?” Astoria questioned.

“I just changed your eyes back,” grinned Rhiannon. “Let’s crack on, then.”

There was plenty of room in the Astronomy library; the bookshelves were well out of the way. Astoria noticed that they all had locked glass doors, which Madam Pince would surely love to have in her library if she were allowed. The ceilings in the Astronomy library were very high and had beautiful arches at the end of which statues of putti cupped planets in their hands. When Astoria and Rhiannon walked to the centre of the room, the putti flitted back to the tables behind the bookshelves to avoid their spells.

“Wand out, Astoria. So… we both know the Jelly-Brain jinx and the counter-jinx, right? So let’s have a little duel and see who can cast it first. The rule is that we won’t leave each other under the jinx for more than fifteen seconds, okay?”

“Okay. Do you actually trust me and my wand?” Astoria laughed nervously.

“I do.”

Rhiannon summoned one of the putto statues and muttered some incantations at it whilst jabbing her wand in its direction. The statue blinked and fluttered its tiny wings.

“We start on a clap from him,” Rhiannon said, and the girls moved into duelling position.

 _CLAP_! The statue smacked its stony hands together and Rhiannon cast the spell first.

“ _Protego_!” Astoria exclaimed on impulse and Shielded herself from the jinx.

“Hey, that wasn’t in the rules,” Rhiannon said.

“Oh, right. Sorry. _Fatuum_!” Astoria said, then regretted casting the spell when she realised that Rhiannon had been off-guard.

Rhiannon’s cheeks filled with air and she started blowing raspberries. Her eyes went a bit lazy and she started spinning all round until she tripped over her foot and landed rather hard on her knees. Astoria frantically released the spell and walked to her friend, apologising rapidly.

“ _Fatuum_!” Rhiannon said.

The room became as round as… round-shaped things… and Astoria thought it’d be best to be round, too. She crouched into a ball with her nose in her knees on the floor and was very proud of the fact that she had become a human globe. She made an effort to start rolling, but she heard Rhiannon’s voice and found herself splayed on the floor. Rhiannon grabbed her hands and helped her up.

“Aw, your hands are cold,” she said to Astoria.

“This tower is frigid,” Astoria described.

“Oh, you can take my robe,” Rhiannon said and handed the garment to Astoria.

At a comfortable temperature, Astoria was further motivated.

“I think that we should practise more until the spell is really potent. I was still sort of thinking when I was jinxed.”

“Yeah, me too. My thoughts were pretty dumb, mind, but I still ’member what I was doing and such.”

As the time passed, Astoria and Rhiannon got to the point at which they could not remember their own actions but were being told by each other that they had done everything from making yodels to attempting break-dancing. Even the putti were not above rolling their eyes at them. They the girls tried a more uncomfortable spell, the Conjunctivitis Curse, but did not quite master it, mostly because neither could tolerate seeing the other’s eyes swell up and start running with gooey, yellow tears.

It came time for the third-years’ class to end, and the girls heard a wave of their noise from the staircase. Astoria indicated that it would be best to wait a bit longer before leaving so that none of the younger students would hear their footsteps from above. The classroom door shut, and they knew they would soon be alone in the uppermost part of the tower.

 _Pit-pat_ , _pit-pat_ , _pit-pat_ , _pit-pat_ , _PIT-PAT_ , _PIT-PAT_ , _PIT-PAT_ , _PIT-PAT_ , _pit-pat_ , _pit-pat_ …

“What was that?” Astoria whispered.

Rhiannon drew back from peeking through a crack in the old door.

“Just Professor Sinistra. Sheesh, hope she don’t fall down the stairs running.”

Astoria and Rhiannon sat down at the nearest table and prepared themselves for the boredom of waiting. If Professor Sinistra heard them sneaking about, they were definitely doomed. After complaining about Umbridge for a while, Astoria went to look at the books. Fearing that something more than a lock on a door was protecting them, she did not grab any but tried to remember some of the titles for later reference. When she returned to the table at last, she saw that Rhiannon had fallen asleep. However, Rhiannon jerked awake when a high-pitched noise reverberated down from the classroom. The girls drew their wands and cursed at their luck.

“Do you think that’s Umbridge?” Rhiannon whispered and ushered Astoria between two bookcases.

“What would Umbridge be doing at the top of Astronomy Tower at one in the morning? She can’t Apparate there, and we would have heard her walking…”

The noise jarringly resounded three more times, and the girls actually found themselves wishing that it was Umbridge… Could this noise be the reason Professor Sinistra was in such a hurry to leave?

 _POP_.

Astoria and Rhiannon cowered at the new sound. Rhiannon pushed Astoria further back and sneaked quietly over to a column by the bookshelf where she might sneak a glance at the intruder without it seeing her. But just as the very top of Rhiannon’s head moved above the point of safety, the piercing noise came again louder and clearer than ever…

“ _MADAM_! _MADAM_ , _WHERE IS YOU_ ‽ YOU FORGOT YOUR–- OH!”

Rhiannon nearly dropped to the floor and then chuckled mildly, “It’s a little elf. A little house-elf I’d say.”

“A house-elf?” Astoria said, peeking above the bookcase herself.

Relievingly, it was a house-elf indeed. She had enormous pointed ears, wet brown eyes, and a nose that was the shape, size, and colour of a tomato. She was clutching a shopping bag from Honeydukes and hopping alternatingly on each foot. Astoria went to leave her hiding place, but Rhiannon insisted she walk out first.

“ _EEEEE_!” the house-elf screeched in surprise. “Where, where, _WHERE_ is Madam Aurora‽”

“Professor Sinistra isn’t here,” Astoria reported. “We saw her going down the staircase about twenty minutes ago.”

“ _Nuuuuuuuuuu_!” cried the house-elf and fell backwards on her behind. “Her FOOD!”

“Probably won’t see her till dinner on Monday. She ain’t in the castle on weekends and doesn’t come in weekdays till evening,” informed Rhiannon.

The house-elf removed her little blue hat and blew her nose into it saying, “ _Woe_! Woe is me –– trying but failing _again_ and _again_ and _again_!”

“There, there! She might not have left the castle yet. It takes a long time to leave this tower,” Astoria said.

“Oh!” the house-elf exclaimed before jumping up and Disapparating.

“I need to get me signed up for Honeydukes delivery,” Rhiannon laughed. “Lucky Sinistra.”

Astoria smiled emptily and uttered, “About Professor Sinistra…”

“What?” Rhiannon asked, stretching her neck muscles from having slept on the table.

“Do you… do you suppose she’s sick?” muttered Astoria.

“Sick? How d’you mean sick?”

“Well, think about it… She’s eating sweets and desserts all the time, and yet she’s actually _losing_ a lot of weight, isn’t she?”

“…Yeah. Yeah, you got a point, there…” Rhiannon contemplated.

“Plus, she’s only been here for her classes now, right? Last year, she stayed in the castle like the other teachers. Perhaps she has to… maybe leave to get treatment…” said Astoria, picking at her fingers.

“You mean,” Rhiannon inhaled. “You mean like for… something like cancer?”

Astoria’s eyes were stinging. “I don’t know,” she mouthed. “I don’t know. She’s different. Ever since Hestia brought it up, I’ve been noticing it more and more.”

The dormitory felt like it was light-years away.

~

“ _I HAVE NO MORE SHOOTING STARS_ ; _I CAN’T TAKE THE PILLS_ …”

“The hell‽” Flora shouted into the dark room.

“Happy Hallowe’en!” Rhiannon said over her own voice. “They’re playing ‘Useless’ on the wireless!”

“Yeah, no kidding! I don’t need to wake up to that!” Flora fumed.

“ _Your eyes––_ ” the broadcast of Pariah’s single rang.

Astoria fumbled for her wand in her drawer and turned off the wireless.

“Sorry, Rhi… it’s so early…”

“That’s all right, Astoria!” Rhiannon chirped. “I don’t much like that song, anyway.”

Astoria used a faint Wand-Lighting charm to illuminate Rhiannon’s face.

“What? I thought you said you were happy with the recording…” Astoria whispered, concerned that Rhiannon did not like Astoria’s vocals on the song.

“Oh, oh, I am!” Rhiannon insisted. “I mean, it’s not a well cheerful song, is it? Haha, the title’s ‘Useless,’ after all. Nah, I just don’t like the mood, y’know?”

Rhiannon’s mood had been exceptionally happy over the past week in comparison to Astoria’s. Astoria actually thought that it was quite inappropriate considering their conversation about Professor Sinistra being absent so much. Yet Rhiannon seemed to be distracted with her own personal fortunes. Astoria was able to get a pass to the library and the girls had been practising quite efficiently. Their royalty cheque statements had come in the previous day and had provided them with sixty Galleons. The album was released internationally at midnight between the thirtieth and the thirty-first of October.

The weather had been truly dreadful; one could not exit the castle without getting windswept and pelted with cold rain. Despite this, the Slytherin Quidditch team’s practises were scheduled nearly back-to-back, and the boys always entered the common room like a pack of wet dogs, often crashing into chairs near the fireplace and falling asleep. That afternoon, Astoria saw Parkinson performing her typical session of fawning over Draco as he sat by the fire, but this time with the addition of feeding him Hallowe’en chocolates as though he was an emperor. When he no longer wanted any chocolate, Parkinson started talking, which was still not ideal, and she asked him how the rival Gryffindor Quidditch team was doing. Rhiannon had swiped the bowl of chocolates from Parkinson’s side and began eating them ravenously as she did her Potions report in a seat nearby.

“Overall, I can’t say that they’re bad, but _Weasley_ ’ _s_ another story entirely… we’ll have to crown him king of the Slytherin Quidditch team if he gets any worse; he’ll win the games _for_ us letting in the Quaffle like that,” Draco mused.

“Weasley as our king? He’s more the serf type, isn’t he? But, yes, that’s good for us,” Parkinson said.

To Astoria’s disgust, the two eventually started speaking in rhyming chants, seemingly composing a rude poem about the Weasley boy with which they would certainly vandalise the corridor walls… It was still possible for Astoria focus on her own Potions report until Parkinson started _singing_ the poem and saying that they should sing it at the games against Gryffindor. Astoria started to gather her things to go back to the dorm so that she might not hear the sound, but Rhiannon’s voice caught her attention.

“No, no. You gotta make it more catchy!”

Astoria iced up in her seat and watched the most bizarre scene unfold. Rhiannon had changed the tune to which Parkinson had been singing the now elongated poem and sang it herself. Parkinson and Draco laughed, non-menacingly, and had joined her until all three were quite happy with their jeering creation.

 _What just happened_ …? Astoria thought in her state of surprise. Obviously, Parkinson had only treated Rhiannon humanely in those few preceding minutes because Draco had done so, but the real question was why Rhiannon would be so eager to make fun of some unfortunate Gryffindor, especially by teaming up with _that_ pair. Astoria knew that Rhiannon was very enthusiastic and competitive when it came to Quidditch games, but this behaviour was past the point of distaste and very unsportsmanlike. Astoria tried to shoot her friend a frown as she went to the dormitory staircase, but Rhiannon was focused on her chocolate again and did not see.

When Astoria went to Astronomy that night, she was horrified to find that instead of festive Hallowe’en decorations in the classroom, there was the horrific Dolores Umbridge sitting on a little chair in the back of the room with a clipboard on her lap. Astoria knew that Umbridge’s favourite classes to inspect were fifth-year Gryffindor classes, so why was she showing her face in Astoria’s Astronomy? Did she think that the Slytherins would be more welcoming to her after a long and tiring day of making students’ lives difficult? Probably so.

Professor Sinistra did not greet her class that night and immediately started their next lesson on the moons of Uranus. She wore a blank stare and hid a tremor up her sleeves. She was in the middle of lecturing about the moon Rosalind when Umbridge twittered across the room:–

“How long have you had the position of Astronomy instructor?”

“A long time,” Professor Sinistra answered in a dead voice.

“How did you obtain the position, if I may?” Umbridge squeaked.

Professor Sinistra looked up at her coldly.

“That is to say, what were you prior to becoming a teacher at Hogwarts?” Umbridge interrogated.

“An intern.”

“An _intern_? Surely not under the late Professor Kleinhardt?”

“I’m thirty-three years old, Professor,” Professor Sinistra said as she showed the students the position of Rosalind in relation to Uranus’s Epsilon Ring.

“Oh, my mistake,” Umbridge said in a fake sweet tone. “You look _much_ older.”

Professor Sinistra displayed surprisingly little determination in order to ignore Umbridge’s comment; she looked as though she had not heard the remark at all. Astoria was getting a fresh sheet of parchment when Umbridge began her gallingly infantile means of communication.

“ _Hem hem_.”

Professor Sinistra made no response to Umbridge’s noises for quite some time and only decided to speak to her when she startled a Hufflepuff student with a particularly loud variation of the “hem-hem.”

“Would you like a glass of water, Professor Umbridge?”

“…No. I was wondering if you would be so kind to tell me… exactly what the _point_ of astronomy is,” Umbridge said slowly.

Astoria saw emotion trace Professor Sinistra’s face for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“Why, the points of astronomy can be from as simple as things such as stargazing for pleasure to as marvellous as planning which spells to use, knowing when to harvest magical plants, and integrating atmospheric magic within the field,” Professor Sinistra answered.

“I see. Now, Professor Sinistra, when exactly do you teach the, erm, ‘marvellous’ points?” asked Umbridge, scribbling mysteriously on her clipboard.

Professor Sinistra was armed with smooth talk and ready to answer:–

“We cover them extensively in the N.E.W.T. classes; I invite you to come see those as well. The way I see astronomy best customised for schooling is to familiarise the students with the outer world before I permit them to try to attain magical mastery through it. I find that this works spectacularly with my students –– perhaps you’ve heard of Candice Telleforsar who saved Diagon Alley from that terrible magical flood in 1987? Or perhaps Gabriel Truman, who has achieved linking Astronomy and Arithmancy to further improve spell accuracy during certain times of the year? But, yes, I am always looking for improvement. Would you have any recommendations for my curriculum, _Professor_?”

Astoria turned slightly to try to sneak a peek at Umbridge’s expression. The woman’s usually stretched and narrow lips were tight and puckered, and her bulging eyes were blinking from Professor Sinistra to the clipboard.

“ _Well_ …I see,” Umbridge smiled. “Go right about your business.”

Astoria grinned and wondered if Professor Sinistra had been in Slytherin; her clever combination of showing off and talking sweet had been wondrous at keeping Umbridge at bay. Yet the charade collapsed as soon as Umbridge left the room at the end of class. Professor Sinistra slid into her chair as if she was a punctured balloon. She clasped her hands in front of her lips, and her tenebrous eyes flickered at Astoria, who routinely hung back to avoid Parkinson’s group after class.

“She’s Fudge by proxy,” Professor Sinistra murmured.

~

The dungeons were so cold on the morning that the Slytherins and Gryffindors were scheduled to play Quidditch that Astoria decided to stay in her warm blankets and miss the match. Her roommates, however, did not respect that decision because they were bored. Flora ripped the covers off of Astoria whilst Hestia charmed all of the candles to shine their brightest. Astoria considered hexing the twins with a spell she had recently learnt from their clandestine practices but knew her mind was not sharp enough to control her wand at that hour. At breakfast, she saw that her House had taken to wearing another gaudy badge on their clothes as they had done during the Triwizard Tournament. Astoria refused to take one from a very disappointed Curtis Evercreech, but Rhiannon happily displayed it on her sweater. The badge was in the shape of a crown and had the phrase “WEASLEY IS OUR KING” displayed on it. Remembering the immature song that Parkinson, Draco, and Rhiannon had developed for the match, Astoria sat next to Tracey and Maxwell Lazenby, who, in protest, were not wearing the badges either. Astoria was going to return to the common room after breakfast, but she ran into Max Manson at the top of the staircase to the basement and dungeons.

“Morning, Astræa, good morning. Would you like to try something with Arithmancy with me and Amy?”

“Erm, it’s Astoria. I already finished my homework,” Astoria replied, trying to get past him.

“Oh, this isn’t for class,” Max said.

“What is it?”

“Chill out, my girl,” Max said calmly. “It’s better than Quidditch.”

“…Hm, I don’t think so,” Astoria said and turned on her heel toward the Great Hall.

“Later, Astræa,” Max grinned.

“It’s _Astoria_.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Decided to come after all?” Rhiannon smiled as Astoria fought for a seat in the stadium.

“Yes, Max Manson was being creepy.”

“That’s nothing new,” Flora said, shivering either at the thought of Max Manson or the temperature.

Astoria watched the commencing match with disinterested eyes. She would have been more enthusiastic if the whole Slytherin team were not wearing those childish badges and if her section of the stands were not erupting in a chorus of that dreadful song about the Gryffindor Keeper. Flora looked as impatient as Astoria did whilst Rhiannon and Hestia joined in singing:–

_Weasley cannot save a thing_

_He cannot block a single ring_

_That_ ’ _s why Slytherins all sing_

 _Weasley is our king_!

_Weasley was born in a bin_

_He always lets the Quaffle in_

_Weasley will make sure we win_

_Weasley is our king_!

Cheering, singing, cheering, singing… the Slytherins were on the pathway to win. Parkinson took the liberty of standing in front of the Slytherin section and making all of the wrong hand motions to conduct them in singing, but nobody else seemed to notice her blatant errors… And Parkinson did not notice that her boyfriend was making his fifth unsuccessful lap round the pitch.

“Think Malfoy needs glasses,” Rhiannon joked.

Astoria chuckled at the image that was placed into her head.

“He’d look like a Swiss banker.”

“Hey,” Rhiannon said after another chorus of the song, “you all right?”

“Well, I don’t appreciate this lyric,” Astoria said. “What business has anybody got in saying ‘Weasley was born in a bin?’”

Rhiannon nodded slowly upon understanding Astoria’s grumpiness. “Ah, he does act like it. Little twonk accused me of being an informant for the pink one. Cornered me at breakfast and everything. Nearly cast something.”

“Did he really?” Astoria asked.

“Yeah, hope I made this song catchy enough for it to stick in his own ruddy head… Ginevra’s the only good one of that litter, I tell you. OI, OI, _OI_!”

The Gryffindors erupted in an ear-shattering cheer; their Seeker Harry Potter, equipped with glasses, had caught the Snitch and won the game for them.

“YOU ROTTEN LION COBBLERS––” Rhiannon started swearing along with the groans from their House. “Ah, shit, Harry’s hit!” she yelped, changing her tone entirely.

Astoria stood up to see Harry Potter lying on the ground beneath the stands of furious Gryffindor spectators. The referee, Madam Hooch, flew her broom up to Vince Crabbe and started shouting in his face and pointing to Harry Potter. Evidently, Crabbe had flung a Bludger at Harry after the end of play. Back on the ground, Harry had recovered but was in the midst of an altercation with Draco. Astoria and her friends started climbing down from the stands just in time to see Draco in a semi-fœtal position in the grass, blood streaming down from his nose. Hestia stopped to observe the sight with a sadistic grin on her face, but her sister wrenched her arm and ushered her along in the same fashion in which Rhiannon was ushering Astoria.

“Ah, come on Flora, I don’t get a chance to see this often,” Hestia smiled, turning her head round enthusiastically. “Stupid Malfoy got himself one in the face!”

Astoria flinched and turned to look once more. Harry Potter was also lying on the ground with an expression of pain on his face. Why would they get into a fight over something as stupid as a Quidditch game?

She should have known better than to stay in the common room for so long, but it seemed a good idea at the time, since it was clear that Max Manson and Amy Frome had not destroyed it with Dark magic. Draco and Parkinson entered arm-in-arm, and though Parkinson was fussing over him extensively, it seemed odd that she had not bothered to tell him that there was still a blood stain on the side of his nose.

 _She probably likes the look of it_ … Astoria thought wincingly.

Clearly, Parkinson did, for she started kissing Draco as they sat on the couch. Astoria was reminded of the description from Rhiannon’s book –– a description of dementors latching their lipless mouths onto their victims…

“That dim old woman hardly took care of you… You _poor_ thing…” Parkinson hummed, rubbing the back of Draco’s neck.

Astoria brushed the edge of her book about Uranus’s moons and ended up seven pages further than she wanted to be. She looked at it anyway, pondering whether she should change her seat or leave the room entirely.

“ _I’ll_ take care of you now, Draco…”

Leave. Leave the room entirely.

“Got some blood on your nose, there, Malfoy,” Max Manson, who had shamelessly been acting the voyeur, called from his seat as Astoria passed by.

Draco and Parkinson looked at Max in distaste, and Draco started to use a washing charm on his face.

“No, no, it adds to the ‘look,’ mate,” Max said with a laugh before the room was out of Astoria’s earshot.

 _Witch Weekly_ attacked Pariah again in its November thirteenth issue, this time even more ruthlessly than before. Astoria had just been delivered a letter when Diane Carter smacked the issue on top of her hands and strutted off to a safer range. Astoria initially put the magazine aside, but her friends’ apprehensive expressions made her open it and search for the article that was obviously going to be offensive.

**“FED LINES” ESCAPES BRITAIN, PLAGUES FOREIGN EARS**

Written by R. Nettlebed

Pariah’s début album was released across Europe on Hallowe’en morning, the perfect time to stir up some horror. It surprises me how youth are so willing to damage their eardrums. It’s either that or there’s some subliminal messaging in that album telling people to get their friends to buy it so the Greengrasses can get even richer.

The reason the French reviews were so positive is probably because 20% of their Wizarding community consists of the vocalist Astoria Greengrass’s maternal family. But even with that knowledge, many articles about the album have criticised the vocalist’s refusal to include a French language song on it. They _do_ know she’s half-Ciel.

A criticism from Swiss newspaper _Die Zauberers Wissen_ is so accurate in describing my feelings about Pariah that I must included it:

 _The guitarist will hopefully abandon having vocals on the next album. Her voice is like listening to a Fwooper_.

It is a good thing the author wrote under a pseudonym or else the Greengrasses might sue. **★**

Astoria was praying that Rhiannon did not know what a Fwooper was, but when she remembered that Rhiannon had taken Professor Lupin’s D.A.D.A. class about Dark creatures, she abandoned the hope. A Fwooper was a magical bird whose call would drive any listener into insanity; it was also a very nasty term for a singer. Astoria at first did not like Rhiannon’s method of singing; it was more like tuneful chanting or raspy humming with the potential to turn into rough screaming at any moment. But it eventually grew on Astoria, if only for the reasons that it sounded pleasantly eclectic when coupled with her own voice and that it was always surprisingly emotional. Regardless of how Rhiannon sang, that was a truly awful thing to say about a fourteen-year-old girl. Astoria was not quite as affected by the comments against her family this time. The author was some relative of Tracey Nettlebed’s.

Rhiannon’s sausage was going cold, and she was scratching her cheek, evidently trying to hold back tears. Hestia looked to be her body guard, shooting the nastiest of looks at anyone who sniggered at them. Flora’s eyes were the coldest that Astoria had ever seen them. Astoria let out a loud “ugh” when Draco walked over and took the sympathetic-looking Curtis Evercreech’s seat by pushing him and his plate of food out of the way.

“What could you possibly add to this article, Draco?” Astoria confronted.

“That the author’s full of shit,” Draco said matter-of-factly.

The other three girls joined Astoria in her expression of astonishment. Draco, with an approving laugh from Curtis, took the magazine from Astoria’s hands and threw it into Tracey Nettlebed’s oatmeal. Astoria needed to cover her face _fast_ if she wanted to hide her blush.

“Girls are really nasty to each other, aren’t they?” he said amusedly. “It seems that all this magazine does is slam everybody.”

“Boys are just as nasty to one another,” Astoria reminded. “What about that fight you got into after the Quidditch match?”

Draco ignored the accusation entirely, and said, “See you in Sinistra’s.”

“Well, that was… _kind_ …” Hestia said confusedly.

“Yeah, you two probably are gonna have a project in Astronomy to do, so he wants to start kissing up now,” Rhiannon said.

Astoria scoffed and finally reached for her letter. It was from Philippe.

Astoria held on to the parchment without actually reading it. There was his neat handwriting coupled with his sloppy accent marks again… There was the way he wrote her name again… And there were two photographs inside. One was obviously his class picture. His messy fringe nearly covered his eyebrows, but his grey vest was formal and neat. He was faking a smile, but Astoria could still enjoy it as the flash of the camera was going off in his bright blue eyes. Astoria noticed Rhiannon watching her stare at the picture, and she shyly looked at the other one. It was a group photograph of Philippe, Zéphir, and Zéphir’s baby brother, Vincent. The elder two were in Quidditch garb and had given the happy little Vincent a Quaffle to hold for the photograph. Astoria finally went to read the letter, which Rhiannon seemed quite perturbed that she could not read.

“What’s he say after not writing to you since August?” she asked, still looking at the French words as though they would become English at any moment.

“Well, let’s see…” Astoria said and began to quote the letter cautiously.

“ _Dear Astoria_ ,

“ _Forgive me for not having written to you in so long_. _My classes have been very hectic and have been taking all of my time_. _Except for the rare opportunities that Zéphir and I get to play Quidditch_ ( _I hope you like the pictures_ ), _we are constantly working to take our sixth_ - _year qualifying examinations_. _I understand that your fifth_ - _years must also take these examinations_ , _so allow me to wish your sister good luck this year_.

“ _Astoria_ , _I have missed you so much that it sickens me_. _If you were here with me this year_ , _I doubt that these tests would be bothering me so much_. _Please reply to this letter in spite of my rudeness_ ; _I definitely need it right now_!

“ _I listened to your album_ , _and I love it_. _Your voice is so beautiful to me_. _I needed to hear it again_ , _and your music came to me at the perfect time_. _Zéphir laughs at me when I speak of your singing_ , _but he appreciates nothing since he is your cousin_. _I hope that you will be willing to sing for me in person one day_.

“ _Until then_ ,

“ _Best wishes_.

“ _Philippe_.”

“Oh, he is so sweet!” Hestia exclaimed. “French boys, huh, Rhiannon?”

“Yeah. A bit overdone, though, I think,” she laughed shortly. “Little too sweet.”

“Well,” Astoria said, folding up the letter and stuffing it back in the envelope. “Well, I…”

“Oh, don’t be so unromantic, Rhi,” Hestia elbowed her friend.

“What? He sounds like he’s quoting an old movie or something,” Rhiannon said, evidently remembering some Muggle romance motion pictures of which Astoria knew naught. “I mean the whole first part of the letter is excuses for leaving Astoria in the dark in a faraway country for four and an half months. I don’t think that’s very romantic at all, Hestia.”

Astoria was going to retaliate until she actually started thinking. How long had it taken to write this letter? It was not a very long letter for all of the time that she had not heard from him. Surely Philippe could have thrown something like this together in September… And Rhiannon was right. Almost half of the letter was an excuse, and the rest was about the music.

Maybe Astoria was still stuck in fairy-tale mode leftover from her childhood, for her heart had still not ceased its fluttering since she had read the letter. At the same time, the amount of sweetness that Philippe had crammed into the letter seemed a bit improper for not having sent a single word in over four months. But maybe Philippe really was overloaded. Maybe he really did appreciate thoughts of her, thoughts of the Yule Ball, thoughts of the long walks round the castle’s grounds… Maybe getting to listen to her album made his long hours of studying easier. However, Rhiannon’s “movie” comment still rang in Astoria’s ears. The letter still seemed a bit… scripted. But all of Philippe’s letters were like that; maybe he just wrote that way. Or maybe all of his letters were scripted.

The letter did not make Astoria nearly as happy as she thought it should have. Perhaps she needed to _see_ Philippe again. That would solve some things that letters could not. She would have a good chance of seeing him at her family’s Christmas banquet, right? Yes… Getting to see Philippe at Christmas would be a great feeling indeed, almost as great as the feeling of seeing Draco put that magazine into Nettlebed’s oatmeal.

Astoria could appreciate her progress in double Charms class later that day. Practising spells amongst her friends in the Astronomy library was so much better than practising in a classroom in which one transfer student from Mahōtokoro was constantly whispering to Diane Carter how Astoria did not deserve a cherry wood wand, how “the only thing she can do with that wand is curl her hair.” But, owing to the extra practice in better company, Astoria’s Flame-Freezing Charm earned her her first perfect score of the year.

In Astronomy, Astoria could tell that Professor Sinistra was disheartened by her friend Professor Grubbly-Plank’s departure since the original Care of Magical Creatures professor returned. As if Astoria was not concerned about her already…

“Are you all right?” Draco asked Astoria in a mostly self-important voice.

“Me? I’m fine, thank you,” she said.

She couldn’t bring herself to ask her favourite teacher if _she_ was all right, for if her assumption was correct, the professor would probably not want to discuss it with a student. It was a very saddening feeling. She almost wished Professor Snape would step into Professor Sinistra’s life again, even if it was awkward to watch.

The next afternoon, Rhiannon and the twins were arguing with one another in the Astronomy library over whether or not they should spend their time meditating against the Dark Arts instead of physically practising counter-hexes. Rhiannon, who had been listening to Astoria’s ramblings about astronomy lately, informed her friends that the Imperius Curse had its greatest strength during November when the position of supernova remnant Cassiopeia A in relation to the Earth was ideal for channelling the curse. Flora was arguing alone about the legitimacy of that theory but was mostly complaining that they had come all the way to the library only to meditate. Hestia was complaining about meditating in any case. Eventually, they brought Rhiannon and Astoria out of their meditation, and Rhiannon suddenly exclaimed:–

“Don’t you get it‽ Stuff like _Imperio_ and _Crucio_ is a lot worse than gettin’ hexed or Transfigured; they do things to people that _stay_. They’re the things that render everything else we’re doing here _useless_! If I was you, I’d shut my gob.”

Rhiannon was acting like anyone could simply walk into Hogwarts and turn them all into puppets any second. Astoria had to agree with the twins to some extent, though she did appreciate the time that she got to relax during this little activity. Hestia, however, was more vocal about the matter.

“Yeah? Well, I think you’ve been taking that Sorting Hat’s ‘deadly foes’ comment way too seriously this year, Rhi. You’re starting to sound like Professor Moody.”

Rhiannon wiped the beading sweat off of her forehead.

“Why don’t you tell me exactly how he _sounds_ , Hestia, since you seem to have a clue‽” she barked.

“Paranoid as a nutter!” Hestia said.

“Listen,” Astoria said, “if they want to leave, they can leave. You do have a point, Rhiannon, it’s good to try to strengthen your mental resolve this during this time of the year. I am willing to stay.”

Flora stood up, saying, “Well? Aren’t you coming, Hestia?”

Hestia glared at Astoria for having brought up the meditation task in the first place, but relented for being snippy.

“Er, no, I’ll stay, too…” Hestia said. “I’m sorry, Rhiannon.”

So, Rhiannon, Astoria, and Hestia continued to look into themselves, trying to find any mental strength they had to protect themselves from the foes both outside and within.


	6. Knockturn Christmas Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 6 - "Picking Oranges" by Leddra Chapman

Astoria received two letters on Wednesday at breakfast which reminded that she still had not replied to Philippe. Putting down her honeycomb, Astoria opened the first letter. It contained warm wishes from her parents and instructions to send them a list of people she wanted to invite to the Christmas banquet by Monday. At least that would provide her with something to say to Philippe, but she was worried that Rhiannon would not want to attend.

“Erm, excuse me… Would you be interested in attending my family’s Christmas banquet and ball?” Astoria asked her roommates.

“Yeah,” Rhiannon beamed immediately and unexpectedly, and the twins also accepted.

Astoria felt like she had done something right in making friends. Yet her second letter was more bothersome. It was from Mr Mongaby, who told them on very short notice that they were to do a live show over the wireless on Sunday afternoon. A predetermined list of the five songs they were to play was the last thing in the letter. Their special passes to Hogsmeade on the nineteenth were already included in the envelope; Astoria handed them out to her bewildered bandmates before the panicked chattering began among them. Doing anything live meant that they could not erase their mistakes. Obviously, bands did live performances all of the time, but they were usually older and more experienced, weren’t they? And in their minds, going on the wireless was even worse than having a concert. The audience was bound to be even bigger than if they were actually in a venue. As expected, Rhiannon demanded that they rehearse “nonstop” until the show. On her way to the dorm to start practising that evening, Astoria saw her sister at a table near the fireplace, sitting uncharacteristically alone.

“Hello, Daphne.”

“Did you make your invitation list already? I think we should make ours together in one letter for Maman and Dad’s convenience,” Daphne said, indicating that she had parchment ready for a letter on the table.

“No, I did not,” Astoria said and took a seat, happy for an excuse to put off rehearsal.

“Here, write your list,” Daphne said and pressed a perfectly manicured finger to an empty section of the letter.

Astoria borrowed Daphne’s glittery quill and started writing.

 _Rhiannon Clarke_ ; _Flora_ , _Hestia_ , _and Mr Carrow_ ; _the Boisvert family_ ; _the Davis family_ …

Astoria paused. She could not think of anyone else who would want to attend, or anyone else who was close enough to her.

“Ought I invite some teachers?” she asked for her sister’s opinion.

“That’s fine. But I do know that Professor Vector is holidaying in Ireland… Actually, Heather is holidaying in Ireland, too… Oh! And Professor Babbling is going to Israel, I heard.”

 _Professor Aurora Sinistra_ , _Professor Filius Flitwick_ , _Professor Severus Snape_ …

“Is it wrong to only invite three of them?” Astoria wondered. “I’d hate to have it feel like a parent-teacher conference.”

“Then you might not have invited Professor Snape! I’m doing dreadfully in that class!”

“He’s our Head of House, Daphne.”

“Oh, very _well_ … No, I don’t suppose it is wrong to invite only a few. The invitation comes from Maman and Dad, after all. We don’t have any fixed guests other than family. Is that all of your list, then?”

“Erm, yes, it is.”

Daphne took the letter and gasped, “We can’t have Tracey there without Max, silly! Plus, the Lazenbys have been to it before, right? Oh, never mind, you wouldn’t remember.”

She wrote the Lazenby family first on her half of the list.

“You know, I don’t really want to see too many people from school, to be honest with you. I’ll just invite the Bulstrodes and the Parkinsons and––”

“The Parkinsons, Daphne…?”

“And who was that cute boy that was there two years ago…? Do you remember him? He was one of Dad’s friend’s sons… Ah, yes, Anthony from Ravenclaw! We’ll invite the Goldsteins…”

It took all of Astoria’s willpower not to spill ink over the letter and start again, omitting Daphne’s invitation to the Parkinson family. She did not want to see Parkinson in school; she most definitely did not want to have Parkinson in her house. She did not want Parkinson to be eating her family’s food and dancing on her family’s floor…

“Should we invite the Malfoys?” Daphne whispered.

If Astoria thought that they ought to invite the Malfoys, she would have done so already. Rolling her eyes, she said, “No, I don’t think so. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard Father say he wishes they’d stop trying to be companionable… And you know the mixture of Draco, Parkinson, and Rhiannon is not good––”

“Well, Pansy will be livid at me otherwise. And why are you inviting Rhiannon anyway? Isn’t she, erm… erm…?”

“She grew up in poverty, yes. What of it, Daphne?” Astoria demanded. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten this, but so did your dear Sally-Anne.”

“But Sally-Anne was different! Rhiannon’s got that _foul_ language and that _foul_ manner and she probably would be thrown into shock upon seeing three different plates stacked…” Daphne said scornfully.

“She’s coming, Daphne, and she’ll sit right next to me, and you can keep your _foul_ attitude to yourself!” Astoria said, standing up.

Daphne screwed up her face defiantly, scribbled something onto their letter, and headed back to her dorm room. Astoria hurried back to her own to compose a letter insisting on Rhiannon’s presence at the banquet in spite of the fact that Daphne had probably crossed out Rhiannon’s name on the invitation list.

“You’re late and angry,” Flora noticed.

“Oh, Daphne’s invited Parkinson to the Christmas banquet!” Astoria grumbled.

“ _Yick_ ,” Hestia grimaced. “Well, I guess she’ll only be with Daphne, though.”

“Plus, her parents and your parents will be there. I don’t think she’ll want to cause too much trouble,” Rhiannon comforted.

“I guess,” said Astoria, and the band began rehearsing.

 _Witch Weekly_ and the _Daily Prophet_ had both announced Pariah’s wireless performance on the upcoming Sunday, and Professor Sinistra had wished the girls good luck at dinner on Friday. It meant a lot, considering that the woman shied away from conversation these days. Astoria kept telling herself that it was only about a twenty minute performance and that the advertisements would provide her with breaks in between songs, but the thought was not very comforting in comparison with Rhiannon’s constant assurances to her bandmates and Tracey and Max’s well-wishing on Sunday afternoon. The girls, armed with Impervius Charms, set off for Hogsmeade’s WWN building in the dowsing rain that evening. Mr Mongaby was ready for them in the lobby, and they all crowded into the lift to go to the broadcasting station on the top floor.

“I bet you’ll sound like the studio version, Astoria,” Rhiannon said softly as Mr Davis opened the door.

“Things don’t work that way, Rhi,” Astoria responded pessimistically.

The girls were briefed on performing for the broadcast. Mr Mongaby led them into the live room, showed them the lantern that burned green flame when they were on air, charmed their floating microphones round the room, and indicated that he would be sitting next to the radio host and making motions through the glass window if they were doing anything he did not want them to do. He told them that speaking should be limited only to greeting, announcing which song they were playing, and answering questions posed by the host. He then took his seat, slicked back his greying hair, and looked impatiently at his showy gold wristwatch, waiting for the host.

A curvaceous woman in her thirties sauntered into the control room. She had fluffy black hair styled as though she had walked straight out of the 1980s, red lips, and dangly gold jewellery. Her complexion was a ghastly white-blue, and when she greeted Mr Mongaby with a smile, she looked to have excessively pointed teeth.

“Don’t look at me like that, man. My mother was a vampire, not me,” she said convincingly, pushing open the door behind which the girls were awkwardly waiting with their instruments and microphones.

“I’m Glenda Chittock.. You must know my girl Aurora. She teaches at your school,” the woman said chattily. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I love playing your stuff over the wireless –– irritates the old-school Slytherins.”

The girls laughed nervously and told her that it was nice to meet her as well. Knowing that a friend of Professor Sinistra’s would be sitting next to their grumpy manager relaxed Astoria somewhat.

“So, I know Mr Mongaby has a list of songs that you’re going to play,” she said, “And I’m afraid I’m gonna have to censor the word ‘Mud’ on ‘Useless.’ Sorry, Miss Clarke, I know you’re just trying to get the point across to your rotten classmates. I know. I was in Slytherin, too. ‘Half-breed’ they said; you know the story.”

“That’s all right, Madam,” Rhiannon nodded.

“All right, girls, let’s make some noise!” Ms Chittock said and took her seat.

She looked at the clock on the wall in the control room and waved her wand at a massive microphone, causing the lantern in the girls’ room to glow green.

“Good evening, good evening all; the Witching Hour’s just begun. I’m your host, Glenda Chittock, here at the Hogsmeade Wizarding Wireless Network station with none other than Pariah, our taste of ingenuity for the night! Hope you aren’t doing your homework right now, Hogwarts, or you’ll miss these lovely ladies in their first ever live performance. All right, girls, how are you tonight?”

“Marvellous,” Flora said smoothly. “We’re going to play ‘The Pariah’ for you.”

Rhiannon was all smiles at Flora, who usually was void of enthusiasm. She then winked at Astoria and prepared to start playing.

“Great, let’s hear it!” said Ms Chittock, and the girls did their best.

Surprisingly, the end of the song came quite quickly, and the girls were announcing “Useless” before Astoria could wrap her mind around the fact that they were actually _on air_ , being broadcasted to who knows who. In “Useless,” Astoria had few vocals and a lot of piano, but the song was nearly embedded into her fingers, and she allowed herself to relax and think.

“ _I have no more trick cards_ / _I can’t seem to win_ / _What they see in me and you_ / _Is sicker than the sin_ ,” Rhiannon sang.

No wonder Rhiannon had made such a face when Mr Mongaby informed them that they would be playing this song on the wireless. It sounded angry, but it was, in truth, very sad. In fact, the last time that Rhiannon had been actually eager to play this song was when they were first starting. She, Flora, and Hestia performed it after Draco had followed Astoria up to the music room.

“ _Fallen angel_ , _risen killer_ ,” Astoria sang before Rhiannon finished the rest of the stanza with the strange lyrics, “ _The Earth couldn’t catch you_ / _The garden cannot quench you_ / _And I cannot sleep through / Your nights in beds of lavender_ ”

Why lavender? The lavender flower was said to have contrasting symbolism of either love and devotion or doubt and distrust. That certainly made sense for the song, but Astoria highly doubted that Rhiannon was acquainted with traditional floriography. Wasn’t there a fifth-year Gryffindor girl named Lavender? Yes, there was: Lavender Brown. Astoria’s family was good friends with her aunt and uncle, but Astoria did not know Lavender apart from the fact that she had upset Rhiannon in the Hog’s Head one day. Astoria thought she might have seen Lavender through the window walking back from Care of Magical Creatures with Draco a couple of times, though. The band continued performing, and Astoria had to focus on her backing vocals as Rhiannon sang:–

“ _Tell me you love me_

_My only source of hope_

_Tell me I’m something_

_I_ ’ _m hanging by a rope_

“ _I have no more shooting stars_

_I can’t take the pills_

_Your eyes have burnt me,_

_You have learnt me,_

_My heartbeat becomes still_

_No_ , _no_ , _I know it shows_

 _I was wrong to think so_ ”

Astoria remembered that Rhiannon had spoken about the song only once and said that it was about liking someone who did not return the feeling, but that much was obvious, and there were more clues to which Astoria had not paid attention back when she was trying to remember how to play the song. Evidently, Rhiannon was dwelling on the fact that the addressed party in the song had high standards, and was apparently oblivious that Rhiannon liked him. The song began its demanding crescendo, and whilst Astoria kept up with the song, she was also considering the lyrics in her head.

“ _My confession is beneath you,_

 _You_ ’ _ll gasp_

 _and you_ ’ _ll laugh_

 _Then you_ ’ _ll turn your back_

_On me and my worthless dreams_

_My worthless everything_

_My worthless wallet_ , _my worthless blood_

_My worthless body_

_My worthless love_

_My useless honesty, useless Mud_

_My useless body_

_My useless love”_

It certainly did not sound that the person for whom this song was written deserved Rhiannon’s affections if he were to meet them with derision had she confessed to him. Furthermore, if he was making her feel that her lack of money, her body, and her status of a Muggle-born was something to avoid, it was no wonder why this painfully open song made Rhiannon uncomfortable. But she was so strong, and she was playing with all of her heart. Certainly she knew that she was better than this boy in the song.

“We’ll be right back on the Witching Hour after a word from our sponsor!”

Astoria sat with her fingers resting atop her piano keys. The green flame in the lantern extinguished, and the other girls took refreshing drinks of water whilst Astoria got lost in thought. The song had made it all so obvious. The song had explained so much. Astoria shut her eyes and breathed deeply. Rhiannon, for whatever reason, was attracted to Draco Malfoy.

The excitement of the performance had ensured that Rhiannon was happy; she was in a conversation with Ms Chittock and Hestia. But beneath that was a girl who was suffering in her heart, as if she had not suffered enough in her life. One of Rhiannon’s very first comments to Astoria had been that Draco was attractive but was a rotten person on the inside… The comment had passed by Astoria on that exciting day in such a flash that it hardly seemed real. Rhiannon had once yelled at Draco during a spat, reminding him that he used to treat her nicely before he knew she was a government-dependent Muggle-born. How greatly that must have hurt her. Just recently, she had been so happy when they bonded over creating that rude song about that Gryffindor Keeper… Perhaps Rhiannon thought that things with Draco and Parkinson would not last, but that he would turn to Lavender Brown, another pure-blood, next. And yet, was there still false hope inside of Rhiannon that pulled her toward Draco Malfoy? Wasn’t it a hopeless case? He would never treat her right! Astoria felt terrible as she announced the song “Sweet Nothings.” …Was her hope about Philippe Boisvert useless as well?

Astoria was entirely unhappy with her performance. The fact that she had not taken a drink combined with the fact that she was upset did not allow her to sing as she wanted. She sounded weak all throughout; she could feel people being disappointed and shutting off their wirelesses. She tried to make up for it on “The Things Unsaid,” and she felt like she at least did the song justice. It even lightened her gloomy mood, and when Ms Chittock started a small interview with the band, she felt quite happy indeed.

“So you girls started Pariah last year? What was it like trying to make a band when you’re so young like that?”

“Erm, wasn’t too bad, really,” Rhiannon said. “We owe it to Professor Flitwick and the Davis and Greengrass families for helping us make everything solid. It’s really great to be able to achieve your goals like this, y’know? So to do this at a young age, I guess, really makes it an even bigger achievement.”

“You know, I was reading _Witch Weekly_ a while back, and there was an article that said you should try to be more like The Weird Sisters, who are on your same label. What do you say to that?”

“I say, The Weird Sisters are great, but what’s the point of copying them? There’s nothing original about that. It defeats the purpose of expressing your creativity,” said Hestia.

“That would be like Transfiguring us into smaller Weird Sisters,” Flora said.

“Well put! So I notice that your band is trying to convey a few important messages with your album _Fed Lines_. Tell me more about that.”

“Er, yeah,” said Astoria awkwardly, getting glances from her bandmates. “Erm, first of all, we want to convey a message to people our age, of our generation, that being different isn’t wrong. I know that there are some people in the school––”

Mr Mongaby started shaking his head at Astoria, but she continued defiantly, “that have prejudices against Muggle-borns or people of mixed heritage, or basically against anyone that they think is less important than they are. And we like to indicate that their prejudices are unfounded, that they cause a lot of pain, and that really, they just make you look ridiculous.”

Ms Chittock and Rhiannon were watching Astoria quietly and admiringly, but she flushed red and let Rhiannon take over the interview.

“So we also wanna raise awareness about––”

Mr Mongaby started making “cut” motions with his hands, but Rhiannon acted like she did not see him and said, “child abuse and neglect. I think that if more people are educated about it, then there’s more people working together to find better ways to aid children in bad situations like that. Because, right now, what we have isn’t good enough. We’re calling for improvement; we want more support for kids in these situations. Right now, as a rock band full of fourth-years, we can’t do much ’cept make a statement about it, so we’re definitely gonna do that. We need to get to a point where kids don’t have to be afraid to get help. We really need to get to that point.”

Ms Chittock looked moved; she was nodding her head all throughout Rhiannon’s response and looking right into the girl’s eyes.

“We most certainly do. I think what you’re doing through the means of music is excellent,” she said sincerely. “Keep it up, Pariah.”

Mr Mongaby stared at Ms Chittock with consideration; hopefully, her response would be a reason not to criticise the girls after the show.

“Now, do you girls have any shout-outs?” she asked.

“Oh gosh,” said Rhiannon, “Yes, erm, Tracey, Montel, hope you’re loving this! Thanks, Mr Davis, Professor Flitwick!”

“Thank you for encouraging us, Professor Sinistra and Max Lazenby!” Astoria said cheerily. “And thanks to Draco Malfoy and Curtis Evercreech for helping us at breakfast. Maman, Dad, Daphne, I love you. Thank you!”

“Dad, if you’re listening, we love you,” Flora said.

“A big thank you to Professor Lupin, too,” Rhiannon said.

“And to Ms Chittock and Mr Mongaby, of course,” Hestia grinned, and Mr Mongaby rolled his eyes.

“And cheers to anyone who has helped or encouraged us!” Rhiannon said.

“Great! All right, witches and wizards, Pariah is going to play one final song for us here.”

“This one’s called ‘Ivy,’” Hestia announced with a grin. “One, two, three, four…”

When the girls got back to the common room, they could not believe the scene. There were wirelesses floating everywhere (some students were even floating everywhere), and a great sound of applause that startled them into gasps. When Astoria noticed the absence of Blaise, Parkinson, and Diane Carter’s group, she knew that Pariah was being welcomed back by good company. Suddenly, she was swept off her feet by Tracey and Montel and placed onto a seat above which Max Lazenby was wand-writing _PARIAH_ in shimmering green letters. Alexa Crover, Curtis Evercreech, and another Mahōtokoro transfer girl who had just arrived that year surrounded the twins and were congratulating them whilst Heather Thatcham gave the “rock on” sign to Rhiannon. Daphne hurried up to Astoria’s seat and grabbed her hands.

“Astoria, you sounded lovely! You sounded even better live!”

“Thank you, Daphne,” Astoria replied.

“Thank you for mentioning me!” Daphne said.

“Of course. You’re my sister.”

A group of third-years looked to have cornered Rhiannon; meanwhile, Alexa, Curtis, and their new friend had gravitated to Astoria by pushing through the hoard of excited students.

“My friend wants your autograph!” Alexa Crover shouted.

“Er, er, certainly…” Astoria said.

The transfer student fumbled for a quill and ink bottle, and Astoria wished she could have conveyed to her that she wasn’t actually famous. Her autograph wasn’t worth anything.

“What is your name?” she asked the new girl.

“Ichijō Manami,” the girl answered. “I’m Akiyama Chiyo’s cousin. We transferred to here from Mahōtokoro. I liked your music!”

Astoria asked the girl how to spell her name, and as she was writing, she was reminded of the pair of Japanese girls who sat together in of most of her classes. Chiyo Akiyama was the one who had unbecomingly joined Diane Carter’s posse and consistently complained about Astoria in Charms class, whilst Manami clearly had more sense in choosing her friends. Astoria was reminded of her embarrassing cousin Asenath, and wondered if Manami was just as exasperated with Chiyo.

“Thank you very much,” Astoria said, and was met a “thank you” in return before Manami and her friends went to play a game of Gobstones.

 _I should have written “Please tell your cousin to stop bullying me xoxo,”_ Astoria thought.

“No, nothing’s been recorded into the track backwards…” Astoria overheard Flora angrily saying to Max Manson. “ _No_ , there’s no secret code, Max…!”

“But Tracey Nettlebed and I got to thinking…” Max Manson started.

“Tracey Nettlebed does not think,” Hestia cut in.

“How d’you feel about all this?” Rhiannon said, leaning on Astoria’s table.

“I’m –– I’m glad!” Astoria exclaimed. “I guess we did well.”

“We did; you did spectacularly,” Rhiannon said merrily.

“So did you! We all did. It was… it was actually fun.”

Astoria saw that Draco was making his way toward them, but a preppy boy in their year named Horatio Pershore had cut in front of him and shot the girls each a charming smile.

“I have to say, I’m impressed with your work,” he said to Rhiannon, smoothly adjusting a cuff link on his shirt. “Why don’t you and I go to the Three Broomsticks next Hogsmeade trip? I’d like to know how you play a Muggle guitar with magic so well.”

 _Well, this is awkward_ , Astoria thought, scooting down the table unnecessarily. She did hope that Rhiannon would accept; Horatio was very polite, made good marks, and did not bother with the crowd of people who had nothing better to do than bully others. He would be good for her. But Rhiannon had not so much as blushed at Horatio’s compliments.

“Well, thank you, but… I’m sorry, Horatio. The last thing I would want to do is upset Manami. Yes… I think she’d be very happy to go, indeed,” Rhiannon said, nodding smoothly and knowingly.

Horatio furrowed his brow and looked toward Manami, who had stopped playing Gobstones for a moment to look at him. She smiled and looked away.

“Oh, er,” Horatio said, disappointed and newly interested at the same time. “Er, all right, er, see you.”

It was very awkward. Though disappointed, Astoria giggled as Horatio started making rounds near Manami’s group to see if she would look at him; she most certainly did, and Rhiannon grew a smug look. Teenage boys were so wishy-washy. Rhiannon tilted her head with more attitude toward Draco, who was not very good at pretending that he did not see what had happened.

“How famous we are,” Draco drawled. “Even Clarke is magnetising unsuspecting victims.”

“Well, you gravitated over here pretty magnetically, you did,” Rhiannon challenged.

“Shut it, Clarke. I merely wanted to ask Astoria why she thanked me about breakfast. What did I do at breakfast?”

“You threw that nasty magazine issue into Nettlebed’s oatmeal,” Astoria answered. “I thought it was a nice thing to do.”

“Yes, throwing things into people’s food _is_ a nice thing to do in your book,” Draco said.

“You know what I mean,” sighed Astoria.

Draco nodded with a face as equally smug as Rhiannon’s.

“Well, good job tonight, Greengrass,” he said and walked away.

“ _Really_ , Draco? Interview and all?” Astoria barked. He must have heard her speak about all those prejudices he had. She wanted to know what he thought about it, why he was still imposing himself into a conversation with her. Draco ignored her and left for his dormitory.

“He’s such a git,” Astoria said.

“I know,” Rhiannon agreed.

Astoria wanted more than anything to know how it was possible for Rhiannon to like him.

“I don’t know how Parkinson could date him,” she brought up.

“No idea,” Rhiannon laughed. “Probably the money, eh?”

 _Money_ …? Astoria was speechless. Did Rhiannon like Draco only because he was attractive and had money? That, actually, would be unfair to _him_ … Astoria’s thoughts mangled themselves into wondering if Rhiannon wanted to be friends with Astoria only because of her money again. It was so daunting to doubt everybody’s honesty when they were nice to her, but it was human nature to try to obtain. Who truly liked her for _her_ and not her money? Rhiannon had always been the first person who came to Astoria’s mind as being an honest friend, and she still did. But perhaps Rhiannon was different when it came to _fancying_ people. Perhaps she could be an honest friend but not an honest girlfriend; perhaps she wanted a man with money. That was disreputable. That simply could not be the case.

“That’s so distasteful,” Astoria tested, “to only like somebody for their money.”

“I know,” Rhiannon agreed. “It always pisses me off when people dream about marrying rich, and it’s like they’d have no real love for them. I mean, if the person you love happens to be rich, that’s different, but to purposely seek out some rich kid is kinda like cheating yourself of having a true love, y’know?”

“Exactly,” Astoria said.

She was relieved to know that Rhiannon did not like Draco for his money, but the subject of Rhiannon even liking him at all was still nagging her. Astoria could see how somebody _else_ might fancy Draco; he was funny, charming, intelligent, just smooth enough to be appealingly flirtatious, and just awkward enough to be endearing… But he was never those things near Rhiannon. Rhiannon always saw the side of Draco that was prejudiced, complaining, conceited, and immature. Maybe she was faultily hoping to change him, or maybe she had already accepted that it would not work… Astoria felt so sorry for Rhiannon. She wished that she could help her, but there was nothing Astoria could say without offending Rhiannon.

Later that night, even Flora was fast asleep after all of the activity. However, Rhiannon and Astoria were still awake, happily talking about little details of the performance that the others would soon forget. They were in the midst of discussing “Useless,” the song that had clarified almost everything…

“Rhi?” Astoria said instead of replying to Rhiannon’s comment about Flora’s occasional missed beats.

“Yeah?”

“Erm, if there is anything, anything at all, that you need to tell me… or if there is anything bothering you…”

Rhiannon’s eyes widened in the dim light and she bit her lip.

“Don’t be afraid to say it, okay?”

“Erm, well,” Rhiannon said, sitting up slowly. “Erm…”

She looked downward at Astoria, who was too tired to sit up. Rhiannon looked awfully frenetic, as though she was searching for wording in her sleepy head. Astoria knew there were not many ways to explain the problem Rhiannon had, and she sat patiently whilst Rhiannon messed with her blankets.

“There is one thing that’s been, erm…”

The candlelight danced wildly in Rhiannon’s dark eyes as she tried to let her words escape. They did not. Rhiannon slumped back onto her bed with a groan and pulled her covers up to her nose embarrassedly.

“Well, I don’t know how to dance at a ball, see… And I’m going to your ball at Christmas, and I don’t want to look stupid…”

A cover-up.

“Oh, I have full intentions of teaching you all you need to know about banquets and balls,” Astoria assured Rhiannon, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.

“Yeah?” Rhiannon said.

Her eyes showed that she was smiling, though her mouth was covered.

“Yes, I’ll teach you all about the etiquette, and the table setup…”

“And the dancing?”

“Yes, I can teach you ballroom dancing in the Astronomy library,” Astoria said.

“Yeah? That’s great,” Rhiannon giggled. “Thank you, Astoria.”

“Certainly.”

The candles were extinguished, and the bed curtains were drawn. Astoria sighed when Rhiannon fell asleep and took her secrets with her.

The next afternoon, Astoria and Rhiannon were leaving the common room to begin their lengthy journey to the Astronomy library. Astoria had her Astronomy supplies with her for convenience; she did not plan on returning to the dungeons.

“Hey, are you two going to practise?” Hestia asked, running into them in the dungeon corridor.

“Yeah, ballroom dancing,” Rhiannon said animatedly.

“Ballroo–– What?”

“For the Christmas thing at Astoria’s place.”

“Do you need to know any dances, Hestia?” Astoria offered.

“No. I don’t. Thanks,” Hestia said, and she moved Rhiannon out of the way to get to the entrance to the common room.

“So, er, what dances do I have to learn?” Rhiannon asked curiously as they walked.

“Well, we always have the Slow Waltz, the Viennese Waltz, and several quicksteps… by the end we usually have fun with freestyle.”

“I have no idea what any of that means.”

“That’s okay! I’ll teach you.”

Rhiannon turned out to be one of the most awkward dancers with whom Astoria had ever danced. She was unavoidably reminded of the Longbottom boy trying to dance with Ginny at the Yule Ball; Astoria’s toes were very sore by the time they had finished. It was as though Rhiannon was following the movements and the instructions, but was doing so in such a clumsy fashion that it defeated the progress. However, Astoria would not give up. Rhiannon was going to be proud and confident at that ball whether they had to practise three hours each afternoon or not.

“No, don’t copy what I’m doing,” Astoria kept saying firmly. “I am doing the leader’s steps, remember?”

“Sorry, sorry, it’s hard to remember how they’re different.”

Astoria was so exhausted by the “dancing” that she did not even want to climb only two more flights of stairs to get to class at eight o’clock.

“I could Charm you up the stairs,” Rhiannon offered comically.

“No, no…” Astoria sighed. “I can make it.”

Astoria hobbled into the Astronomy classroom and fell into her seat, failing to relax her muscles in the wooden chair.

“What happened to you?” Draco asked.

“I was dancing,” Astoria admitted.

Draco grew bemused expression and said, “ _Dancing_? Why?”

“Well, it’s not for a concert if that’s what you are going to ask me.”

“Oh, Astoria?” Professor Sinistra suddenly looked up from her desk and grabbed the air as if snatching up a thought. “I was able to hear part of your performance on the Witching Hour. You’re a splendid pianist.”

“Thank you very much, Professor,” Astoria said happily. “I didn’t know that your friend is the one who hosts the Witching Hour. She was nicer to us than our own manager was.”

“Yes, she’s a sweet person. My sympathies about your manager,” Professor Sinistra said.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“So,” Draco said after they had finished their worksheet about Neptune. “Why were you dancing of all things?”

“I like to dance,” Astoria said simply. If she told him she had to teach Rhiannon ballroom dancing, he would go to great lengths to insult Rhiannon for not being cultured enough to know how to waltz.

“Do the Greengrasses disown everyone who doesn’t like dancing?” Draco asked.

Astoria laughed. Draco must have had knowledge of their family’s elaborate, traditional dance which they performed on every Vernal Equinox. The dance, “Quennell’s Waltz” was notoriously complex. It served as an illustrative rite of passage for couples entering marriage. It had different moves for every couple, and a different move set for single individuals and nonfamily members in the “slow lane.” It was through the rumours of the “slow lane” dancers that “Quennell’s Waltz” had become something of a cultural legend. Astoria wondered if Draco’s mother had seen the dance back when her parents were better acquainted with her.

“You _do_ disown people who won’t dance, don’t you?” joked Draco.

“Of course not, silly,” Astoria said. “We simply brainwash them.”

Draco cracked up and disturbed Daphne and Heather, who were still suffering over their worksheet.

By Saturday, Rhiannon had greatly improved with the Slow Waltz, so when she asked Astoria if she would like to write some songs with her, Astoria did not refuse. She knew that they must have been writing for a couple of hours, for her legs were getting sore from sitting in the same position.

“So how many people come to your Christmas thing?” Rhiannon asked after scratching out a few lines of melody in her notebook.

“It’s always at least forty, since both sides of the family are there,” Astoria said. “But our banquet hall and ball room can each fit two-hundred. We tend to invite a little over one-hundred non-family members, so there tends to be approximately one-hundred fifty people, which is a comfortable number for Dad. He says that any more would make it too impersonal.”

“Isn’t it already?” Rhiannon pondered. “How long is it?”

“Guests arrive at six in the evening, and the banquet is five courses spread over two hours. The dance begins at eight-fifteen and typically ends at midnight.”

“So it’s five an’a half hours with a hundred-fifty people?” Rhiannon said with a hint of opposition in her voice.

“It never feels like that,” asserted Astoria. “Guests may leave after the banquet in good etiquette. The younger children tend to fall asleep in the lower east wing’s bedrooms at about nine-thirty. So, it isn’t always full of people.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s another thing, etiquette. I mean, you _might_ not’ve noticed this, Astoria, but I’m not exactly cut from the finest stone.”

“Would you have me prioritise teaching you dancing or etiquette?”

“Erm, both? I don’t know, maybe I need an instruction book or something on how to act posh.”

“I could write some basic guidelines for you if you think that would be helpful to read.”

“That’d be fantastic.”

“Who am I going to be sitting with during this… this five-course meal?” Rhiannon said unfamiliarly.

“With my parents and me, of course!” Astoria said. “I’m afraid I don’t know who else will be at our table besides Daphne, since my parents make the seating arrangements. I also don’t know how many people will be at a table, but it usually about ten to twelve.”

“And who’m I gonna have to dance with?”

“Why, you don’t _have_ to dance with anybody,” Astoria said amusedly. “Some attendees choose not to dance, and no one dances during every song. Some people enjoy the game room, too, so you are welcome to go there if you do not wish to dance.”

“Oh… okay.”

“Come on, we should practise dancing more so you will not be uncomfortable. We can also work on looking posh so you’ll feel more confident,” Astoria giggled.

In the common room, the girls were accosted by Draco, who had put a game of chess with Theodore Nott on hold. Theodore, however, had already found an excellent move to put Draco in check and leaned back in his chair, contentedly folding his hands. He simply waited for Draco’s attention to make him upset.

“Thanks for the invitation, Greengrass,” said Draco haughtily.

“The invitation?”

 _Oh no_ , Astoria thought. Daphne did want to invite the Malfoys to the Christmas banquet due to Parkinson, didn’t she? That frantic scribbling on the paper after the sisters had had a spat… it must have been an invitation for Draco and his parents. It was too late; the deed had been done. Astoria could not be rude and tell him that she had not invited him. Her only hope was that Draco could not attend and get weird with Parkinson in her house.

“To your banquet, Astoria.”

“Oh! Yes, right, the banquet,” Astoria said, pretending to be full of recollection. “You are welcome.”

“Yes, my father sent me a letter this morning informing me that we were going to attend your banquet. It’s white tie, isn’t it? That’s fine with me. You know, in all of these years, it’s really surprised my father that we had never been invited to any of your parties before. After all, our fathers worked in the Ministry together for such a long time, and my mother knew your parents. I suppose your father finally remembered we exist, then? I can’t imagine how he would have forgotten _us_ … Hm, that will all be behind us, I’m sure. I finally get to see if my house is bigger than yours, don’t I?”

Draco was speaking in such a proudly patrician manner that Astoria nearly gagged. This ball was bound to bring out the worst in his arrogance.

“Oooh… I’m afraid, Draco, that _my_ house is bigger than yours. Don’t take it too harshly,” she said, and she led Rhiannon out of the room.

Before Rhiannon could make any comment about Draco’s presence at the banquet, Astoria reported that it was Daphne who was responsible for the Malfoys’ invitation and that Draco had only assumed that it was Astoria. In response, Rhiannon looked relieved as Astoria continued to vent.

“When Draco thanked me for the invitation, I was hoping that he was going to tell me that his family had declined. Truly, I am surprised that they didn’t. Those people have always scorned ‘blood-traitors.’ My father never spoke with Mr Malfoy outside of work, and my parents have not been friendly with Mrs Malfoy for a long time. Why the Malfoys are so willing to show their faces at a ‘blood-traitors’’ banquet is beyond me.”

“They probably want to look good, like,” Rhiannon pondered. “You know, go to rich people things ’cos they’re rich. Or maybe they don’t get invited to too many things because of their attitudes.”

“They _do_ get invited to things, but you are right. They probably want to make themselves look respectable.”

“Hope they aren’t expecting kindred spirits at your party, eh?”

“They would be very unwise to do so. My Uncle Salomon and cousin Renshaw are both Squibs, and they’re not the only ones in the family. Supremacists are the ones who are not welcome, but Daphne ignored that rule now that we were allowed to choose some people to invite.”

“Does Malfoy know I’m gonna be there?”

The sunlight sifting in through the windows of the Great Hall was harsh on one’s dungeon-acquainted eyes. Astoria squinted and drew in a long breath. Did Rhiannon _want_ Draco to be there? Perhaps to see her dressed up? Perhaps to see all of the things that Astoria taught her?

“He would be a fool not to know,” Astoria said.

“He’s a fool anyway,” Rhiannon noted.

By the time the girls reached the Astronomy library, it had become cloudy. Astoria peered out of a window. The Forbidden Forest looked like a tidal wave of shadows that stopped short of engulfing Professor Hagrid’s hut, from where puffy, grey smoke emerged from the chimney and blended perfectly with the sky. If Professor Sinistra was there, she might have performed an Atmospheric Charm to bring back the pretty afternoon sunlight, but there had been several times when she had let wild storms crash over the castle. Astoria cautiously lit the torches in the library and glanced at Rhiannon, who was slouching against a bookcase and scratching food crumbs off of the corners of her lips. When she noticed Astoria, she flipped her arm down to her side and smiled weakly before lowering her head and pretending to cough.

“Come here, please.,” Astoria said gently.

Astoria watched as Rhiannon gauchely dodged the circular tables by the window and drooped in the space in front of her.

“When you are in a formal situation, you should move gently. When you walk or make other gestures, do not do so hurriedly, nor overly enthusiastically. Approach people in a relaxed manner,” Astoria instructed.

“Oh –– sorry,” Rhiannon said, shaking her head at the floor.

“Basically, move in slow motion in all that you do,” Astoria chuckled. “Though I prefer the term _calm_ to _slow_ _motion_.”

“Right, yeah, calm,” Rhiannon said, glancing quickly upward before returning to gazing at her trainers.

Astoria brought a finger beneath her own chin and said light-heartedly, “Hold your head up so you can see me, Rhi.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Rhiannon said, looking quite terrified as her eyes fell on Astoria’s neck.

“Higher, now.”

Rhiannon put her nose in the air.

“Not so high that your eyes must be lowered in order to reach eye contact with any person to whom you may be speaking, Rhi.”

“Er, sorry!”

“Don’t apologise; you’re learning. Here… I know it’s odd to go through this stuff.”

Astoria took the liberty to adjust Rhiannon’s head herself by cupping her palms on the girl’s warm ears and moving her head down as though titling a model of a planet. Rhiannon made a funny face and did not budge after Astoria had made the alteration.

“Try not to be so rigid, either,” Astoria said. “There is no precise position in which to hold your head. Simply be sure that you are neither looking at the floor nor above people’s heads. As I am shorter than you, lowering your head slightly would be perfectly fine. Just don’t do it disrespectfully. Straighten your back, too. Don’t slouch no matter how lovely a feeling it is to slouch.”

“Right, right.”

“That also means you must carry your weight with your feet instead of your hips or your slumped leg. Hmm… oh, one last thing. Do you notice how your shoulders are rolled forward as though you are sitting over homework? Don’t do that; keep them at your sides so that your arms are positioned neatly, too.”

Rhiannon moved back her shoulders, but they rolled forward again. It was then that Astoria felt she was being too strict for someone who had never been taught about posture in her life.

“Erm, remember to stand up straight, and your shoulders will straighten out as well.”

“Oops.”

“Very good!” Astoria praised. “Try to stay that way whilst walking.”

“Err… this feels like a workout already,” Rhiannon said jadedly.

“Let’s see you walk round these tables. Keep your hands to yourself. Don’t swing them dramatically, but don’t walk rigidly. Everyone will be impressed.”

Rhiannon combined her usual gait with the standing position in such a way that it probably would have been better if she walked as she normally did. Astoria, who did not want to act like an old nanny and prod Rhiannon in the back and chin until she walked neatly, stood in the pale grey light of the window discouragedly.

“Keep _constant_ posture, Rhiannon. Walk slower, and you will not need to slink round those curves. Come back through the other way.”

Again, no luck.

“ _Come now_ , Rhiannon; walk… walk like a rich little prat!”

This language worked supernaturally on Rhiannon, and she was indistinguishable from rich little prats in no time. Then they worked on dancing more. As the two made their way to the Great Hall for dinner, Astoria was giving Rhiannon rules regarding table manners.

“Do not stab your food; do not make noise when you eat. Of course, you are forgiven if they food naturally makes noise when being chewed…”

“Of course.”

“Cut your food into small enough bites so that you can fit it comfortably into your mouth. If you place too much food in your mouth, you’ll suffer through it. And always, always, _always_ bring your food to your mouth and not your mouth to your food. So, go ahead and try that.”

“I can’t wait until the banquet’s over,” Rhiannon said, laughing.

But over the next week, Rhiannon had determinedly become so much more poised, at least when walking and eating, that Hestia was begging to have her old Rhiannon back.

“It’s only temporary, Hestia,” Rhiannon assured. “I look like Malfoy doing this.”

~

The snow fell unexpectedly heavily on the first day of December. Overhead, the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall was white with magical flakes that all disappeared before they could reach the floating candles which cast away the silvery shades of the outside with their warm, golden glow. Many students had worn their scarves to breakfast; Curtis Evercreech’s scarf fell into his porridge as it slipped away from his neck. When the four girls each got a letter, they knew that their November cheques, the first cheques since their album had been released internationally, had come. The twins gasped in unison, and Rhiannon had actually started to cry. Frantically, Astoria asked what the matter was, but the girls informed her that they had each earned three-thousand Galleons. Flora continued to stare at her letter in astonishment, and Rhiannon was utterly beside herself.

“I can buy everyone Christmas presents… I can actually buy people gifts for Christmas!” Rhiannon blubbered joyfully. “Oh, my God, I’m rich. I’m rich.”

“Rich in fat?”

Parkinson was hovering over Rhiannon and Astoria, blinking ponderingly at the letter Rhiannon had placed on the table. Parkinson liked the effect of having grown her hair out over the summer; she flipped it backwards with clichéd flamboyance.

“Piss off, Parkinson!” Hestia said loud enough to shock a pair of first-years.

“I don’t take mouth from a half-witted clone, Carrow girl,” Parkinson said quickly. “All I’m wondering is when Astoria’s parents are gonna stop paying you fake cheques.”

“Don’t say another _word_ , Parkinson,” Astoria said, standing from her seat and reaching a height only to Parkinson’s eyebrows. Parkinson stepped forward, threateningly tapping her pocket for her wand.

“Aw, little baby makes a bold move to defend her playmates! Why you aren’t in Hufflepuff is still beyond me, Greengra––”

“ _This_ is why! _Calvorio_!”

Parkinson jumped back as a pale red light hit her at the neckline. After examining her arms and legs and feeling her face, she threw the biggest scoff she could muster at Astoria, disgustingly hitting her on the forehead with spit.

“You’re absolutely pathetic. Try taking first-year Charms again, brat.”

Parkinson noticed Professor Snape approaching and shifted her eyes to the Entrance Hall. Astoria stood in place, nervous and unsure of what to do. She really had thought that the curse had worked; it felt like it had. Perhaps it really was time to try to get a new wand… it would make Chiyo Akiyama and Diane Carter have less to say in Charms…

Parkinson whisked her hair over her shoulders as she turned to escape Professor Snape. Her hair certainly went over her shoulders… it left her head and spread in the air, falling in streams to the floor. Parkinson screeched and flipped round again to stare at her hair, and Astoria could see that her eyebrows had fallen out. When Professor Snape arrived at their end of the table, Parkinson’s eyes were watering as her lashes started dropping from her eyes, dark brown hairs fell from her nose, and short, wispy hairs were shooting out of her ears. Astoria backed into the table, actually with more intent to avoid the flying hair than to avoid Professor Snape, whose face was screwed up tighter than crumpled parchment. Spectators had gathered to witness the scene, undoubtedly several of them grateful to Astoria. At the same time, though, they wanted to hear her punishment. Professor Snape had covered the wailing Parkinson’s hairless head with the sleeve of his robe and used his other arm to summon Madam Pomfrey, who escorted Parkinson to the hospital wing. Rhiannon stood up in time to support Astoria with an arm round her shoulders as Professor Snape turned menacingly to face them.

“What… on _Earth_ … were you thinking, Greengrass?” Professor Snape said acidly.

“You should thank her for getting rid of that moustache, Pansy!” Astoria heard Alexa Crover call. Her comment was met with a wave of laughter that did not reach Astoria, who was trying to clear her throat.

“Erm, Park–– Pansy had, had come over to us here and, well, she called Rhiannon fat, and then she said that Flora and Hestia were a pair of, erm, dumb clones, essentially, and then she insulted my family, and then made comments about Rhiannon’s money. And I told her–– told her not to speak to my friends that way, but she mocked me because I am younger than her and reached her hand to her wand, and I’m sorry, it happened whilst I was too angry and frightened to think, and––”

“Pansy did reach for her wand. I saw her, Professor,” Montel inserted, trying to help.

“Stay out of this, Mr Davis,” said Professor Snape seriously. “Miss Clarke, unless you wish to follow your friend to my office, I suggest you let go of her now. Miss Greengrass, to the dungeons with me at _once_.”

“Professor Snape! Professor Snape!”

Umbridge was tip-toe-running to the end of Slytherin table, and Astoria felt ill.

“What seems to be the problem here?” she said in a house-elf’s voice.

Her giant eyes popped out of her head at Astoria and Rhiannon, who had not left Astoria’s side. Astoria took notice as Professor Snape’s expression changed from fitting a situation that could involve a student’s hair never growing back to one fitting a situation that involved nothing more than spilt pumpkin juice.

“There is no problem which I cannot handle, Professor,” Professor Snape said calmly. He turned his head slightly, saying “To the dungeons, please.”

Astoria followed Professor Snape after having one last glace at the nail-biting twins. She was grateful to still have Rhiannon there with her, but she feared that Rhiannon would be dragged into the mess. The encompassing light from the Great Hall vanished, and a cold air swept up from the basement as the girls stepped down. The usually pleasant scent of breakfast foods wafted about, but Astoria’s stomach was curdling, and she could not bear to think of food. They were in the dungeons far too soon, she thought; a flight of stairs had surely shrunk as though it was taking Professor Snape’s side… Within a few turns, they were in the professor’s dark, crowded office, being bothered by a pair of magical rickety chairs continually smacking against the backs of their legs before making the girls sit in them. Professor Snape took several moments, on purpose, to look through a small agenda, hoping to increase the pair’s trepidation.

“It seems,” he said, then paused for another agonizing minute.

Rhiannon had placed her elbows on her knees and her hands under her chin; the tortuous waiting evidently did not work on her any longer, and she looked bored.

“It seems that my time to give you detention is already full…”

Astoria prayed that she would not be sent off to Umbridge. _Surely_ Professor Snape would not send her off to Umbridge… The woman was sadistic enough in class…

“The responsibility then falls to Prefects. Now let’s see who amongst my Prefects is not overseeing detentions of their own…”

Professor Snape pretended to read something in his agenda, but Astoria already knew. It was going to be as bad as Umbridge. Astoria had cursed Parkinson, Parkinson was a Prefect, and Parkinson would be the executioner.

“I think Mr Malfoy would be eager to do the job, after what you did to such a close friend of his,” Professor Snape said devilishly.

Mr Malfoy? Draco Malfoy? Astoria tried to look shattered, and she succeeded. Of course, Draco would make Astoria pay for what she did to his girlfriend, but he would not have her cut her own hair at wandpoint.

“Yes, that will do perfectly. Miss Clarke, as you did nothing, you do not have detention. However, since you were _foolish_ enough to let Miss Greengrass drag you down here with her, you can help her set up for my first-year class next. I need sixty-four cauldrons each set up with a container of flobberworm mucus, sopophorous beans, peppermint, and chopped slugs. You still have thirty minutes of the breakfast hour. Work diligently. Go.”

Astoria and Rhiannon rushed to situate the cauldrons on the desks in the potions classroom. The next part would not have been a problem if Astoria could find the box of thick, elbow-length, disposable gloves which she always used in class. It was that box of gloves that made the difference between her high A mark in Potions and her low high D mark in Herbology, where the garden gloves were only wrist-length and needed to be hand-washed at the students’ discretion. It was not so much contamination from the objects that bothered her, for she could always clean her hands, but the _feeling_ of anything slimy or grimy made her sick. She would have used her wand for unpleasant tasks more often if the teachers allowed it. Rhiannon knew this, and, like the heroine she was, offered to deal with the mucus and slugs whilst Astoria got the beans and peppermint. After washing up, Rhiannon was keen to finish the piece of fried bread which she had stuffed into her robe pocket, but Astoria definitely had no appetite after seeing the slug parts.

“Thank you so much for coming with me,” Astoria said as they walked out of the dungeons.

“I wasn’t gonna let you go through that alone. Snape hardly takes House points from us, but when he yells, it’s something nasty. And now, you poor thing, you’re stuck with Malfoy.”

“I know! I’ve never had detention before. I don’t know how I’m going to find time to go to detention, do my homework, and teach you to dance…”

“Hey, I know the Slow Waltz and one of those quickstep things, right? I’m probably not gonna be doing much dancing at the ball anyway. Worry about your homework.”

“How do you mean you aren’t going to dance‽” Astoria exclaimed. “Believe me, if you can do the Slow Waltz, you can do the Viennese. All you need to know is to follow the leader to the centre for fleckerls and know another pivot––”

“Yeah, that’s grand and all, but I think I’ll just dance a couple of times, maybe. Providin’ someone asks me, of course.”

“Of course someone will ask you! You’re a lovely young woman, Rhi –– I have these painfully single cousins––”

“If you’re talking about Zéphir, I wouldn’t say he’s in much pain,” Rhiannon coughed.

“No, no, my cousins Orphée and Séraphin… And there will be many other boys our age there who will be dying to ask you to dance––”

“Huh, well I won’t be dying to dance with them.”

Astoria grimaced. Was Rhiannon really going to sulk about Draco on Christmas Eve? Astoria had had enough of this. It was time for Rhiannon to admit it and let it go. Astoria had not taught Rhiannon that painstaking Slow Waltz so she could sit at a table in the banquet hall and wish Draco would ask her to dance.

“And what if Draco asks you?” Astoria pressed, stopping Rhiannon from entering the history classroom.

“Ha! _Draco_? Good thing he won’t. I’d have to cram mistletoe down his throat!”

 _Right_.

Draco was very displeased when Astoria saw him that afternoon for detention. He must have spent ten minutes of the hour criticising Astoria about what she did to _Poor Pansy_ …

“ _Poor Pansy is sitting in all of her classes with a head scarf and drawn-on eyebrows because of what you did to her_ ;” “ _Poor Pansy has to put this pongy stuff on her head twice a day_ ;” “ _Poor Pansy was just upset because she found out today that she can_ ’ _t go to_ your _ball_ … _How could you?_ ”

But Astoria was trying not to smile during Draco’s tirade. Parkinson with fake eyebrows? No Parkinson at the banquet? Had Astoria died and gone to Heaven? No; it was more like purgatory, for Draco made her write lines about how great Parkinson was… Still, Christmas was looking bright.

Over the next few days, though, things went downhill. Hestia and Flora told her that they were not allowed to attend the banquet after reading a letter from their aunt and uncle. Hestia took the news particularly roughly; she began to act unreasonably, as though it was _Astoria_ ’ _s_ fault. Astoria could hardly speak with Hestia without her becoming snippy. Flora, on the other hand, was merely sad. It was as if the twins had switched personalities.

By the time the end of term was imminent, Astoria felt like cramming mistletoe down Draco’s throat herself. She had spent the month doing work for various teachers under his supervision (at least, until Parkinson arrived to snog him). He had introduced his cause to all of the teachers with “ _Miss Greengrass here is in detention for using that awful Hair Loss Curse on Pansy Parkinson_ … _I wanted to make the most of it by having her help out our staff_ …”

While Umbridge’s instructions to check each page of all of the first-years’ books for vandalism was terrible, Professor Sprout’s wish to have the different bags of various dung sorted was the absolute worst. Draco would not even let Astoria help the sickly Professor Sinistra with anything, for he deemed that it would be “too fun” for her to do anything astronomy-related. To have teachers that she was not even familiar with only know her as the Greengrass girl who got detention for cursing another student was miserable. Yet it was a blessing that Professors Babbling and Flitwick started leaving tremendously easy tasks for Astoria ever since Parkinson’s beaver-coloured hair had grown back; they were aware of Astoria’s true character. Even Professor Snape remembered to put the big box of gloves right where Astoria needed them.

On the eighteenth of December, only two days until the end of term, Draco told Astoria that he was going to have her write lines. She sat embarrassedly in the middle of the common room, as he had said to do, with her quill and paper ready and a vicious glare on her face.

“I want you to write… ‘Happy Christmas’… one time,” he grinned teasingly.

As it turned out, Prefects were in charge of decorating the Great Hall for the holidays. Astoria had never known this, for they always did so right before breakfast. For Christmas, however, they decorated a few days ahead of time so that they could put up the trees. Draco left Astoria in charge of decorating all of the trees on the wall near the Slytherin table whist he, the only Prefect not decorating, sat lazily and said things such as “Don’t let your wand crack any ornaments when you’re angry,” “Don’t let your wand drop any ornaments because you aren’t paying attention,” or “My scarf is not garland, Astoria; give it back…”

Rhiannon and Astoria had made a habit of staying up late to complain about things to each other, but on the last day of term, they could not find anything wrong except that Ginny Weasley was missing from Potions and was not there to see Professor Snape’s shocked face when Manami Ichijō had merrily presented him with a plate of gingerbread men that she and Alexa Crover had baked.

Since Astoria, Rhiannon, Flora, and Hestia were all leaving Hogwarts for Christmas, they planned to send each other their gifts with owls. This way, Rhiannon said, no one would have to see each other’s disappointed faces. However, she was definitely the most thrilled person of the group and was lively and jittery for the entire ride back to London on the Hogwarts Express.

Astoria’s mother greeted Rhiannon warmly and then began fussing over her daughters, asking them how they were managing with Umbridge and how long it would take for their progress reports to be sent home. Astoria did not like discussing her marks, though, and actually tried to keep the conversation on Umbridge. She felt that her parents expected her to be tremendously better than Daphne academically because Astoria was the daughter with common sense, but Astoria only had three A’s out of her nine courses. She always wondered if she would be doing better if she was in her third year, but the real problem was that she thought that others were wondering about that as well. It never helped that her father was a Ravenclaw; she always thought she disappointed him.

The coldness of December vanished when the ladies arrived in the drawing room of Quennell Park. Once they stepped out of the fireplace, Astoria’s mother lit a fire that warmed Astoria’s toes and made her earmuffs unnecessary.

“The Mistress’s girls are home!” squealed Dimsie the house-elf, running all over and hugging everyone’s legs. “Would you like hot chocolate? Dimsie will get you hot chocolate!”

“Welcome home!” the family’s smaller house-elf, Prissy, said. “Welcome, guest! What shall Prissy do for the guest?”

Astoria’s mother smiled and rubbed Prissy’s ears. “Prissy shall bring my husband to the drawing room and send these girls’ bags to their rooms, please.”

It felt so good to be home. The ladies removed their shoes and warmed their feet by the fire. Astoria’s father entered, carrying Prissy on his shoulders. He let the house-elf back down and gave his daughters huge hugs.

“Home at last,” he said. “Last year we had neither of our girls, and this year, we have gained a girl.”

Rhiannon was unmistakably utilising Astoria's teachings on poise. Rather than embarrassedly looking down and saying “Hi,” she bowed her head slightly and said, “Hello, Mr Greengrass. How are you?”

“Excellent, Miss Clarke! Ah, here is your hot chocolate.”

“Master is awake!” Dimsie said. “Oh, Dimsie shall have another hot chocolate ready on the double!”

“No thank you, Dimsie. That would put me right back to sleep,” Astoria’s father said. “Prissy is in the kitchens now preparing breakfast; please help her. Make yourselves some hot chocolate whilst you’re in there.”

“Of course!” said Dimsie.

“How are my girls?” Astoria’s father asked, sitting next to her mother by the fireplace. “How terrible is the High Inquisitor?”

“Quite terrible, Daddy,” Daphne sighed. “I can still hear her squeaky little voice ringing in my ears, saying, ‘Miss Greengrass, eyes on the book…’”

“That deplorable book!” exclaimed Astoria’s mother.

“She’s a… well, a despot. We’re glad to be home,” said Astoria.

“Yes, now that you are home, we can decorate the tree in here. See, we have left it bare so that we may all decorate it together. Let us decorate it after breakfast, no?” Astoria’s mother said.

Astoria could not believe how delighted Rhiannon was to help decorate the tree. Her face looked as though Christmas had already come, and Astoria was left wondering if Rhiannon had ever decorated a Christmas tree before. Rhiannon had had a tour of the mansion in August, but she expressed her desire to see it all again now that it was decorated. Astoria took this opportunity to show Rhiannon where her guest room was and to show her what waltzing in the actual ballroom was like. Rhiannon had never danced so easily before; she soon brought Astoria into a quickstep.

The glass on Astoria’s balcony doors fogged up when she peered outside that night. The whole estate was snow-covered, but it must have been magical snow conjured by her parents; she had not seen snow fall for some days and the sky above was clear. She spotted some of her favourite constellations from her spot inside before slipping under her fluffy blankets. The next day, her family would be going shopping in Diagon Alley. It would only be the second time that Rhiannon could spend her own money there.

Diagon Alley was crowded, though not as crowded as it had been right before school began. Witches and wizards everywhere were scurrying about, trying to shop for Christmas at the last minute. Astoria saw that she had a gift list about half the size of Rhiannon’s and asked her for whom she was shopping. Rhiannon read her list aloud; she was getting a gift for her Muggle friend and for all of her teachers, even Professor Trelawney, to whom she was indifferent. Umbridge, however, was not on the list.

“I’ll even get something for Snape,” Rhiannon said. “But not Umbridge.”

“He’ll probably throw up at how cheesy you are,” Astoria whispered.

“Well, if I get him a nice, new cauldron, it’ll catch the vomit! Hey, did you notice if I’m forgetting anybody I don’t hate on this list?”

“Hm… what about Professor Moody?” Astoria brought up. “You said he didn’t turn out to be as bad as you expected.”

Rhiannon gave a rather ironic laugh.

“I haven’t the _faintest_ idea of what he’d want.”

“Very well, then. I believe your list is ready.”

Astoria looked back to her own list and did not even want to think of how bad it would look if the formerly grant-dependent Rhiannon bought all of the teachers gifts and a Greengrass did not. As she was awful at thinking of gift ideas, she said that they should split the money on the ones for teachers that they both had and write both of their names on the packages. Thankfully, Rhiannon agreed to this proposition. It saved Astoria some thinking, and it saved Rhiannon some money.

“Oh, look who’s here!” Daphne said cheerfully.

The Lazenby clan was passing by the café in front of which the Greengrass party stood. Max was not joking when he spoke of how hectic the holidays were for them; he had three of his siblings trailing after him. Mr Lazenby was carrying his fifth and youngest child, who could not have been older than three. Max waved at the Daphne and Astoria, which facilitated a chain reaction in which all of the six other Lazenbys were waving in the Greengrasses’ direction. As Astoria’s and Max’s parents were chatting about the upcoming banquet, Astoria heard Daphne say, “What do you _mean_ you’ve no idea what to get for Tracey? There are over fifty shops here! Here, let me come with you and we’ll pick out a nice necklace for her…”

“Tracey said she doesn’t want any jewellery. In fact, she said, ‘Max, don’t you get me any jewellery, you hear?’” Max reported.

“No jewellery‽ Hm! Well, we’ll find something very nice and very _Tracey_ instead.”

Daphne got permission to shop with the Lazenby party; the Greengrasses went the other direction to travel through Gringotts to retrieve Rhiannon’s money. Astoria was very proud of Rhiannon; though she was eager to use her newfound fortune, she controlled herself and took out two-hundred Galleons.

“You know, I don’t know what to get for Tracey, either…” Astoria pondered. “Nor Montel.”

“I was gonna get the Davises a family gift, like. So we can split the money on that, too, and you won’t have to think of separate presents,” Rhiannon said.

On the way out of the bank, Astoria’s mother had furtively stopped Astoria and said quietly, “I want your gift to Rhiannon to be the finest of accessories for the dress she picks out. Buy the dress, too –– make sure she does not spend too much money. If she is careful, the money in her vault could last her until she graduates. If she is not, and she makes no more money, she will be in the same situation again. I know she does not like us paying for her things because she feels like we are donating. But please try to watch her.”

“I understand. I will,” Astoria said.

“But I also want her to have the most fun today and for you to have fun with your friend. So please be careful; I am taking your papa shopping with me. Go and place an order for any dress she wants. Remember that you buy her everything for the ball. Meet us at Twilfitt and Tattings at five. Your papa and I have many things to buy before then.”

“Yes, Maman.”

“And Astoria––”

“Yes?”

“Rhiannon also knows the Shield Charm and the Revulsion Jinx, no?”

“Yes, she does. I taught her the Shield Charm last month.”

“Very good, very good. Have fun. I love you!”

“I love you, too. I will see you later, Father!”

Astoria and Rhiannon hurried excitedly to the second floor of Twilfitt and Tattings. Rhiannon was overwhelmed by the stock of gowns. She shuffled through the rows of hanging dresses and dress robes as though she were walking through the most fascinating of museum exhibitions.

“Astoria, is that you?” Anthea, the seamstress, called from her sewing table.

“Yes, it’s me. How are you?”

“Oh, your parents make me very busy and very prosperous every Christmas,” Anthea chortled. “What brings you in today?”

“My friend Rhiannon needs a dress for the banquet,” Astoria said. “We will be here until five o’clock. If you will need extra pay to finish her dress by then––”

“Oh, no, dear, I only have two other orders today, and I really could not ask any more of your family when they have these banquets thrice a year, haha! Do you know my husband and I are going to the Caribbean next month? Oh, it will be so warm there…”

“That sounds lovely, Madam.”

“Of course, of course. Now where’s the lady in question? Ah, Miss Rhiannon! Feel free to pick out any size of dress; I can easily charm it to another size. Then we shall adjust it, and you’ll be ready to dance!”

Rhiannon had been staring at a dress that was far too small for her for a whole minute.

“Oh, er, okay.”

“What size are you, dear?”

Rhiannon paused, reading the tag on the dress that said it was a size six. Astoria knew why Rhiannon had stared at it for so long: it was one of the few dresses there that had sleeves that would conceal the scars on her right arm.

“Sixteen. Can you do that?”

“Straight away,” Anthea said, and the dress grew before Rhiannon’s eyes. “Now, put this on, and then I shall adjust it.”

Astoria anticipated that Rhiannon would have no idea how to put on the complicated garment and stood by the curtain whilst Rhiannon changed.

“Er, does this go on over me head or––?”

“Yes. Do not try to step into it.”

Astoria heard a terrible noise of rustling as Rhiannon attempted to get the dress on. Finally she sounded to have succeeded.

“Can you get the zipper for me, please?”

Rhiannon shuffled out backward from behind the curtains. Astoria could see how nice the dress looked on her already. Rhiannon had picked out a very pretty ball gown; its skirt had a circumference suitable for a princess with seven layers of lavender silk. Black lace and polka-dotted sheer fabric alternated atop of the silk layers, and the back of the violet bodice had a corset. Astoria remembered Daphne’s similarly coloured dress from the Yule Ball and much favoured this one’s design. She began to lace the corset as soon as she had zipped the back; Rhiannon jumped excitedly and asked her what she was doing.

“You’ve a corset back here, you know,” Astoria said.

“I do? I didn’t see that. Nice,” Rhiannon said speedily before scuffling to the fitting stand.

Astoria suppressed a few laughs as Rhiannon awkwardly positioned her arms and winced each time she _thought_ she would be poked with a pin. In no time at all, the girls were ready to do the rest of their shopping. Rhiannon was so animated that she was hauling Astoria out of the shop by the wrist. She insisted on going to the appropriately titled Junk Shop, for it had intrigued her when she had seen it from the window of Twilfitt and Tatting’s during her fitting. Inside the cramped and stuffy building, Astoria saw second-hand, broken, and antique items. It was not Astoria’s idea of a shop, and she found a seat in a dusty old chair that kept telling her that her behind was too big. Rhiannon, however, loved the place and was browsing through anything and everything until she came back with a trolley containing a tiny Christmas tree that grew its own ornaments for Professor Sprout, a pastry recipe book for Professor Sinistra, a (new) hot chocolate-making kit for Professor McGonagall, a box full of beanie hats for her Muggle friend, and a surprisingly nice tea set for Flora. Astoria and Rhiannon counted out their money so that they might split the amount for Professors Sprout’s and McGonagall’s gifts, for Astoria had decided to get Professor Sinistra a better gift separately. The overall total came to two Galleons and eight Sickles; Rhiannon was happy with her good deal.

After Shrinking all of the purchases and moving them into one bag, Rhiannon led Astoria into the market district to go to the gift shop of the Museum of Muggle Curiosities. Rhiannon purchased a new microwave oven for her Muggle Studies professor, Charity Burbage, for the less reasonable six Galleons. In the ever-quirky Gladrags Wizardwear, she purchased Professor Trelawney a beaded scarf, and Astoria was able to get Flora a parasol with a barrier charm on it that would shield the user from rain and wind coming from all directions. Since there was a music shop right above Gladrags, the girls went up there to find a gift for Professor Flitwick. They found two instead: a set of improved magical piano wire and a new triangle to replace the one that a second-year had reportedly melted.

When they left the shop, they were somewhat surprised to see Professor Sinistra, who was leaving the House-Elf Agency building. She noticed and greeted them pleasantly, but she informed Astoria that she was unable to attend the banquet. Astoria’s heart deflated; Rhiannon looked quite disappointed as well. Apparently seeing how disappointed she had made the girls, Professor Sinistra offered to show them one of her favourite food stands at Horizont Alley where a happy old wizard was selling roasted chestnuts. Before the professor had to leave, she had instructed the girls to tell her all about the ball when they came back to school; this revitalised Astoria somewhat. Rhiannon then caught sight of Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop and spent about three Galleons on herself before thinking to buy Harry Potter a set of Sugar Quills.

Rhiannon and Astoria turned onto Diagon Alley North Street and entered Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment. They split the bill on a four-player chess set for the Davises, and Rhiannon purchased a fishing set for Professor Hagrid and a grand map of Europe that showed the weather conditions in real time for Astoria’s parents. Astoria abruptly remembered that she meant to get her parents each a new pair of dancing shoes at Twilfitt and Tattings; she hoped that she could sneak back in to purchase them before her parents arrived at five o’clock.

At Flourish and Blotts, Astoria found a brilliant publication entitled _Surreptitious Stonehenge_ for Professor Sinistra and both volumes of _Asiatic Anti-Venoms_ for Hestia. Rhiannon purchased the impressive, ten-Galleon _Disquisition on Sociology and Social Psychology_ for Professor Lupin, who reportedly “liked this sort of stuff.” Astoria became concerned that Rhiannon was overspending; however, Astoria’s mother had seen quite plainly the amount Rhiannon took out from her vault, so Astoria supposed that as long as Rhiannon had some money left, she had done her job. Astoria could tell that Rhiannon did not frivolously purchase anything anyway. She often squinted at the ceiling to do mental calculations regarding the prices –– something that Daphne never did.

Rhiannon and Astoria strolled into the Apothecary, and Rhiannon purchased a large box full of a variety of labelled claws and talons for Hestia’s potion-making needs. She still insisted on getting a cauldron for Professor Snape, though, so the girls went to the very last shop on the Alley before the Leaky Cauldron: Potage’s Cauldron Shop.

“Good afternoon,” said the nearest wizard working there. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Yeah, thanks, I’m lookin’ for a fifteen-litre copper cauldron.”

“Oh, copper? I’m afraid we’re fresh out of copper on account of the holidays,” the wizard said. “We have other cauldrons that size, though, if you’d like to pick one out.”

“Ah, no thanks.”

“Are we going back to the Apothecary for Professor Snape?” Astoria asked after they exited Potage’s.

“Hm? No, we’ll go to the other shop,” Rhiannon said determinedly.

“Fine Enchanting Cauldrons?” Astoria asked.

“ _Pssh_! No, that place has cauldrons the size of the palm of me hand going for thirty Galleons. The other Potage’s, I mean.”

“What other Potage’s?”

“The Knockturn Alley branch.”

Astoria smiled since she thought Rhiannon had made a joke. She had not. The smile disappeared instantly. What was going on in Rhiannon’s mind that made her think that Knockturn Alley was a perfectly legitimate backup option for unfulfilled shoppers? The place was crawling with Dark Arts users; in fact, ninety-nine percent of the shops in the alley purposely specialised in Dark Arts trade. “No” was the answer. Rhiannon had gone crazy. Astoria was under the impression that Rhiannon had actually listened to her until they reached the archway at the end of the North Street and Rhiannon started handing Astoria her bag and all of her leftover money except for thirty Galleons.

“What are you doing, Rhi‽”

“Well, if you ain’t coming, you might as well hold my stuff so I don’t have to take it down there,” Rhiannon said plainly.

“No, no, no, no, no. _You_ aren’t going to that place, either!” Astoria said heatedly. “What do you think that place is, Rhiannon? Look at it––” she made a desperate gesture down the road, “––it even looks scary during Christmastime!”

“Ah, like where I live, you mean? Listen, Astoria, I can handle this. I got me Foe-Shard, remember? And we know a lot of counter-curses now, so––”

“ _NO_ , RHIANNON!”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Astoria, I can _see_ Potage’s from here! Come look, see, that’s it, right there, just off the road a bit. You know, the place gets worse as it goes down, really. At the top, it’s not so bad, so––”

“How do you even know about this? Have… have you actually _been_ here before?”

“No, no, I overheard my old roommate Imogen Stretton talking to that sixth-year… Lofthouse, I think, yeah. They were talking about it, and I ’member they said there’s another Potage’s there, and hey presto! See you later, Astoria.”

“Rhiannon, no. That’s dangerous. _No_ , Rhiannon.”

Rhiannon smiled a little and said, “Hey, you can wait here for me or gimme my stuff back and come with me.”

Astoria was torn. There was no way to stop her with magic; minors were forbidden to use magic outside of school. They could use it on the Hogwarts Express and Hogsmeade regularly, but in Diagon Alley, they could only use it strictly in self-defence. Rhiannon was much stronger than Astoria was; she could not drag her away from the creepy alley. Furthermore, if Astoria went in there with her to be an extra pair of eyes and an extra wand, people might see her. How awful it would be if anybody spotted a Greengrass in _Knockturn Alley_!

“I can’t come with you, Rhiannon! What if somebody sees me?”

“They’ll think you’ve got some secret edgy side to ya,” Rhiannon grinned mischievously. “Nah, I’m just kidding, Astoria, listen, I bet Snape himself shops here. Now come along; you can stay close if you like.”

Astoria did not know how she was brought into this ordeal; she only knew that she had plastered herself to Rhiannon’s side and had not taken her eyes off of the foggy Foe-Shard. At any minute, something could emerge from behind those rickety wooden fences… Correction: Knockturn Alley was so narrow and cramped that anything behind the fences could merely _reach over_ and snatch the pair. The street dipped in several places, and Astoria kept stumbling; each time she yelped from her near-tripping, it echoed, and she was given the impression that any noise she made was alerting unmentionable presences of her arrival. The fact that they were the only souls on the street actually made the situation more frightening. There must have been crowds of people there earlier, for there were brown, slushy footprints all over… or were they _red_?

“Rhi. Rhi, let’s go back. There’s got to be a reason why the employee at the other place didn’t redirect us here.”

“Yeah, probably so he can’t get sued.”

“Oh, no. _Rhiannon_.”

“Look, we’re here.”

Astoria could not see the inside of the cauldron shop clearly, for there was hardly any lighting. It was so dark, in fact, that she guessed that the shop had closed and the workers had not yet locked the door. They obviously did remember to let the guard dogs out; two enormous Doberman Pinschers appeared from the darkness and started barking at a deafening volume, slinking right toward Astoria and Rhiannon.

“Shut up! HEY –– shut up!” a wizard’s voice called angrily, and the dogs sauntered away.

A few more candles were lit; it was just enough for Astoria to see how different this shop was from the one in Diagon North. It looked like this shop’s purpose was to hold overstock. Unlike the other shop, cauldrons of all sizes and materials were carelessly placed in huge piles. Many of them were already filled –– with dust, that is. One could hardly be expected to browse the shop unless implementing an “antiquing” approach, which, by the looks of the wizard in front of Rhiannon, was not advisable. The wizard was wearing a ridiculously thick coat, or perhaps he was ridiculously thick and was wearing a normal coat. He had tangled brown hair and a long beard with little braided knots at the end. He narrowed his already narrowed eyes further and said, “Whaddya want?”

“I’m looking for a fifteen-litre copper cauldron,” Rhiannon said.

The specifics of the request annoyed the wizard, and Astoria had casually slipped her hand into her coat pocket to not-so-casually get a hold of her wand.

“Copper’s over there,” the wizard grunted and expected his customers to know which direction “there” was.

Copper cauldrons were apparently in demand even within the Knockturn community, for Astoria spotted a pile of only six of them. The wizard had not moved apart from turning his head to monitor the pair. To Astoria’s dismay, Rhiannon started turning each cauldron she picked up to find the little engravings that told of the size. In the process, she created an unreasonable amount of clamouring which was met by loud and intimidating footsteps upstairs.

“Hey, can you read what this says?” Rhiannon asked Astoria casually, oblivious to the wizard’s glares.

“Fifteen litres,” Astoria said without looking. Somebody else had entered the room from the staircase in the back.

“Really? It don’t look like fifteen litres,” Rhiannon said, reaching for the last of the six cauldrons. Astoria had no idea what she was going to do if Rhiannon walked out of that place without buying anything. She coughed, “ _Ahem_ , you can just resize it…”

“Engorgement and Shrinking Charms aren’t good to use on cauldrons, you know,” Rhiannon argued. “They have to be crafted a certain way.”

The giant bearded wizard was the last person who looked like he cared about cauldrons being _crafted_ in any way at all, and Astoria did not care, either. The cauldron was for the man who put her in detention with Draco anyway. It was not worth dying for whatsoever.

“Then get him the size you’re holding,” Astoria said sternly. “Come on, Rhiannon.”

“Oh, wait, this one’s fifteen.”

Rhiannon started examining the last cauldron for imperfections.

“Here, hold this,” she told Astoria. “ _Lumos_.”

Taking out her wand even for the Wand-Lighting Charm was one of the many unwise decisions Rhiannon was making. The wizard had removed his wand from his coat pocket and crossed his arms.

 _We_ ’ _re going to die_ , thought Astoria, and prepared herself to dump all of her money on the floor and get Rhiannon to make a run for it.

“Yeah, this one’s good,” Rhiannon said. Before Astoria could sigh with relief, Rhiannon added, “Do you have the lid to this one?”

“The lid…?” the wizard said slowly.

“Rhiannon, what the hell?” Astoria hissed into the girl’s ear.

“HEY, MURT!” shouted the wizard.

“Wha?” a voice from the shadows called back.

“Hey, we got those lids Potage sent us?”

“Lids?”

“Yeah, mate, get this little witch the lid for her cauldron.”

Astoria half-expected Rhiannon to tell the obscured employee the specifications for the cauldron, but she did not. The even bigger and hairier Murt appeared, carrying a massive crate of totally assorted cauldron lids. Astoria’s chest felt so tight that her only method of breathing was swallowing the air inside her mouth. Yet Rhiannon searched through the crate all the same with clanging noises ringing in the air, apparently unaware of the two wizards’ dead-eyed stares. Astoria wondered why she had not taken the Foe-Shard from Rhiannon before they entered; it was sitting uselessly in the girl’s pockets somewhere…

“Found it, thanks,” Rhiannon said happily. “I’ll take this.”

The first wizard walked back to a till, the sole hint that the place was a legitimate establishment, and told Rhiannon that the cauldron cost twenty-six Galleons.

“Twenty-six?” Rhiannon said. Astoria was side-stepping to the door and once more preparing to draw her wand.

“The sign at the other Potage’s said there was an holiday discount for twenty-four on copper. That’s why they’re sold out, ’cos everyone goes up there.”

“The… holiday discount, kid?” the wizard challenged crustily.

“Oi, give the little witch her _holiday discount_ , mate,” said Murt in hilarity.

The only assurance of any upcoming transaction was a gruff nod from the wizard at the till. Rhiannon counted out twenty-four Galleons and pushed them toward him. He took the money and then stared at her.

“What?” he snorted.

“Can I get a receipt? It’s a gift.”

 _No_ , _no_ , _no_ , _you idiot_ , Astoria thought desperately.

The wizard did not move his expressionless head as he reached for a stubby old quill and some ripped parchment and scratched something that was supposed to be a receipt.

“Ready, Rhi? Come on,” Astoria said.

“Thank you!” Rhiannon called. They were finally escaping.

As relieving it might have been to finally be out of Knockturn’s rendition of a cauldron shop, going back outside was yet another frightening event. Astoria was able to look at the slush in the street and concluded that some of it was, in fact, bloody. The whole area seemed greyer than it had been when they walked in the shop. Astoria was prevented from leaving the tiny porch of Potage’s as Rhiannon held her with one arm and checked her Foe-Shard with the other. Noting that the coast was clear of danger, they proceeded down the creaking steps only to find that the coast was not clear altogether. A group of four was hurrying up the hill, and Rhiannon pushed Astoria back up the stairs rather than get in the group’s way. The foursome moved into a single-file line to get past a series of ditches in the road, and Astoria and Rhiannon saw them quite closely from their location. The first amongst them was a stocky wizard with black robes concealing his face. The second matched the first in garb but had a woman’s figure. The third was much smaller and was wearing a pointed hat and green scarf. The fourth wore the same thing, but her scarf had slipped down to her chest and a gust of wind blew the brim of her hat upward as she passed by. It was Hestia.

To Astoria, the situation was scandalous. Hadn’t Rhiannon recently said that Knockturn Alley became gradually worse as one went down the hill? The Carrows certainly looked like they had come back from a long journey down there; if Astoria had been in a building so suspicious on the first block, anywhere that the Carrows came from must have been strictly criminal. The twins did not notice Astoria and Rhiannon; their attention, too, had been drawn toward the bloody slush. Nobody made a sound, and after the Carrows left, the silence remained until Rhiannon and Astoria were back in Diagon Alley’s main square.

“Here are your twelve Galleons. I cannot _believe_ you made me do that,” Astoria spat.

“I never made you do nothing but hold this cauldron when I checked it,” Rhiannon believed.

Astoria looked back at the horrible Knockturn Alley and started walking. Perhaps, she felt, the farther away from it she was, the further the memory of it would be from her. Though internally livid at Rhiannon, she eventually dropped the matter under the influence of that dreadful sedative one might know as “the Christmas spirit.”

Astoria was able to purchase new dancing shoes for her parents in time for them to arrive at Twilfitt and Tattings. There, Rhiannon was overjoyed with the way her new gown looked, yet she was nearly afraid to touch it for fear that she would damage it. The sheer excitement over the garment seemed to distract Rhiannon from the fact that she had seen the twins in that necropolis of a shopping district, but Astoria had already started theorising by the time they returned to the estate.

Rhiannon tried over and over again to wrap all of their purchases nicely with gift-wrapping charms. She was not doing a very good job, but she kept claiming that the charms were still easier than the manual method. For the gifts, the girls prepared slips of parchment saying, “ _Happy Christmas from Astoria Greengrass and Rhiannon Clarke –– Undo the Shrinking Charm before opening_!” A few of these slips of parchment would have longer communications, but what was Astoria to write in the letters to Flora and Hestia? “ _Try not to do anything illegal_ ”? It felt so weird to know that she had spent the good part of the past year and a half sleeping in the same room as two girls who went on family outings to Knockturn Alley. Astoria recalled that Hestia had stated that her family was “freakishly protective” –– if they were that protective, they would not have brought the girls to such a place! Apart from a few fleeting mentions of Mr Carrow, Astoria knew nothing about Flora and Hestia’s extended family. It seemed that they talked about their family very little, much less than one normally would. The twins would send and receive owls from their dad the previous year, but ever since Umbridge started inspecting all of the letters, the twins had received a total of two letters from home. Astoria was definitely curious enough to ask her parents what sort of reputation the Carrow family had, but at the same time, she was not uncouth enough to bring up a potentially grim subject during the holiday. What if the Carrows had a similar history as the Malfoys?

Rhiannon finally recalled the event in Knockturn Alley once she started to wrap her gifts to the twins. She spoke of it in a tone that Astoria would not have used.

“Guess we know why the Carrow twins ain’t coming to the banquet, eh? They’re secretly the Kray twins.”

“The… the what?”

“Ah, nothing. Was a bad joke.”

“Well,” Astoria said quietly, “I don’t really think this is something to joke about.”

“Probably not, no,” Rhiannon said. She huddled on her bed with her knees to her chin. Astoria knew by the look in her eyes that the subject had been on Rhiannon’s mind more than she had been showing.

“What do you think of it exactly?” Astoria wondered. She wanted to hear Rhiannon’s untouched opinion about the incident before she said anything.

“Dunno really. None of them were in the Foe-Shard. Weren’t even making shadows in the background or nothing. Maybe something happened to them like it happened to us, like some shop was out of stock so they figured they’d get what they wanted down there.”

Rhiannon was making all sorts of those nervous gestures that dissolved any steadfastness in her statements. One hand ran over the plush fabric of her comforter whilst the other played with the frays in her jeans. She looked to a wall rather than Astoria.

“Hestia’s always said her aunt and uncle were a bit barmy.”

“Has she?” Astoria asked. She hadn’t been part of those conversations.

“Oh yeah. Yeah. I… once I asked her if they ever, you know, hurt them any, you know, but she claimed no, they’re just barmy, like. Don’t like meetin’ people, don’t like going in public. Recluses, I guess. Hestia only mentioned them a couple of times, then didn’t want to talk about it any after that. Can’t imagine why they’d go to Knockturn during their one trip outside, huh?”

“No, I can’t imagine why.”

“Maybe they…” Rhiannon swallowed. “Maybe they _are_ more than what Hestia said. The aunt and uncle. Maybe they’re no good. Not the girls, though. I know the girls are good.”

“Flora and Hestia are lovely. But it was so eerie, wasn’t it? I don’t even think they saw us.”

“Nah. Hestia looked something miserable, though.”

“I know. Poor thing. I wonder if their aunt and uncle dragged them down there.”

“That’s what I reckon, yeah. But if we’re gonna ask them about it, we have to wait till we go back. That’d be a terrible owl to get over the holiday.”

“Definitely.”

“Hey, let’s not worry about it,” Rhiannon said, retrieving a smile from somewhere far-off. “Let’s get these presents sent, all right?”

Needless to say, it was fortunate for Astoria’s owl, Twinkles, that the Greengrasses had several other owls to diffuse the task of delivering all of their gifts before Christmas. The task of teaching Rhiannon about the setting of the banquet table, however, was entirely left to Astoria. And yes, Rhiannon questioned the practicality of the use of five specialised forks over the course of the meal, but she was still absorbing information eagerly in the hopes that she would impress her fellow banquet-goers. She told Astoria that what she still did fear was her manner of speech.

“Oh, forget it, Rhiannon,” Astoria said light-heartedly. “You’ll add new spirit to the table!”

“Yeah, that’s just what the posh folk wanna hear at Christmas –– _new spirit_.”

“When will you learn that we only turn up our noses at those who turn up their noses too high?”

Rhiannon poked Astoria’s nose when her guard was down and said, “Like the Malfoys?”

“Most certainly.”

~

The day before the celebration on Christmas Eve, Quennell Park hosted a total of seventy-two more guests. Twenty-three were relatives from France. Forty-eight were Mrs Ciel-Greengrass’s friends and their families from Beauxbatons. One was Philippe Boisvert.

Philippe had arrived with his parents, his two brothers, and his sister-in-law. Astoria met them all; they were all as friendly and placid as he was. She relaxed.

Philippe was wearing a coat that might have been for skiing, and Astoria quickly ushered him to another fireplace that was not being used for Floo transportation. Astoria relished the feeling of Philippe sitting next to her; she had to move her chair closer to him. She had missed his blue eyes looking at her. She had missed his voice so much; she had missed when he talked to her. She tried to not speak too quickly, not to sound too entranced, not to sound how Daphne did when she spoke with boys she liked. It didn’t matter. It didn’t work.

Philippe kissed Astoria. Suddenly, there wasn’t as much to tell him with words.


	7. The Banquet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 7 - "Waiting for Cars" by Soccer Mommy

Rhiannon could not imagine why there was a new shadow in her Foe-Shard on Christmas Eve morning. She lay on her side in that spectacularly comfortable bed staring at the shadow until her alarm went off. The shadow never materialised, but it floated there ominously in the glass and in her thoughts. “Ominous” was not a word that one should have to use on Christmas Eve morning, but the lone shadow had worked its way in front of that large group of figures that had been there since September. Rhiannon found herself pleading that whatever the problem was could wait until after the Christmas banquet that night.

Every single morning, she had a pain in her chest. This has been going on for a year or so, so it wasn’t like a heart attack. It was more like dread, anxiety, and unhappiness even when she was perfectly happy. She felt empty and lost in the mornings like her mind just hated the idea of anything but sleep. Yet every morning, she had to get up. She had thought about telling somebody, maybe the nurse. Then they’d tell her she was stressed. And that’d be that. It wasn’t quite so bad at night, though. Even after a bad day, it was like the warmth of her blankets welcomed her. Especially these very nice blankets at Quennell Park.

Rhiannon loved the way her dress looked on her when she put it on that evening. She could not stop spinning round her room; she could not get over the fact that the room was large enough to spin round in. All of the beautiful things that Astoria had bought her for Christmas were waiting to be worn, sitting on that little vanity in the corner with the big oval mirror. She was practising sitting down in the little seat in front of it so that she might be able to sit down in that giant dress whilst at the banquet. She looked into the mirror and studied her own face. A word she might have used to describe it would be “puffy.”

Astoria came into the room. Rhiannon wondered if Astoria would describe her face as puffy but decided not to ask her. Astoria’s face was formed nicer than Rhiannon’s was, though she had a very crooked smile. It was crooked in a cute way, though; sometimes it made her nose twist a bit if she smiled suddenly. But she was already smiling since she was extremely excited about the banquet.

That evening, Astoria laced Rhiannon’s dress corset incorrectly the first time, but Rhiannon didn’t mind the wait or the re-do. Astoria was good with fixing hair; she certainly ought to be after spending all that time on her own hair each day. But she had never fixed Rhiannon’s hair before, and Rhiannon was almost waiting for her to say that it couldn’t be done. That never happened. However tiny Astoria’s hands were, she managed to tame the monster that was Rhiannon’s hair and bring it into a very pretty updo that Rhiannon feared would get messy if she moved her head too much. Astoria left the room to get ready herself, and Rhiannon was hardly in a mood to do anything in the meantime except watch the snow falling outside of her window and making wispy piles on the balcony.

Astoria thought it would be a good idea to go down to the banquet hall and see the table arrangements, so Rhiannon fumbled with her jewellery and shoes and joined her. Astoria wore a magnificent milky-blue gown with tiny, glinting silver beads arranged in designs at the neckline and down in one line on the skirt. She wore silver jewels in her hair, a matching necklace, and that same type of long gloves which Rhiannon could not get used to on her own arms. Rhiannon wanted to tell Astoria that she was beautiful, but Astoria was always beautiful, and it seemed rude to only mention it then. The problem was that any other time, Rhiannon didn’t have the excuse of the pretty dress.

The banquet hall had twelve large tables arranged in a rectangle, apart from “table one” which was at the head between the horizontally aligned tables two and three. Upon entering the room, the girls first encountered tables ten, eleven, and twelve. Rhiannon glanced at table ten; it only had French names she did not recognise. However, table eleven had some familiar names. The Lazenby herd still managed to leave enough room at the table for other diners, including Millicent Bulstrode, her father, and the Malfoy trio.

“Ah, who made these seating arrangements? Your parents, you said?” Rhiannon asked.

Astoria responded with a very peculiar look, one that was almost sad.

“Daphne told Dad that if Max and Tracey wouldn’t be at the same table, they should at least be at tables near each other. …See, the Davises are at table twelve aren’t they? Yes, and Maman thought that Mrs Malfoy might enjoy being near a table with French-speakers.”

“Oh, I thought it was to keep the Malfoys away from our table,” Rhiannon said humorously.

“I… I don’t think that was intentional, Rhi,” Astoria responded apologetically.

“You okay?” Rhiannon asked Astoria earnestly. The conversation seemed to disturb her.

“I’m perfectly fine. Are you?”

“’Course I am. So who’s at table nine?” Rhiannon said, walking over to ease her curiosity. “Oh, I didn’t know Lavender Brown was gonna be here… Boy, she’s a noisy one in the halls, ain’t she? We’ll probably hear her from up at our table.”

“My father is good friends with Lavender’s uncle,” Astoria yammered. “Yes, see, we have them sitting with the Pettrochis… those are other good friends… quite a few Ravenclaws here tonight. I mean, not Lavender, but…”

“You okay, Astoria?”

“Yes, I’m okay. I do wish Professor Sinistra could have come, though… I could have shown her some of my astronomy books…”

Rhiannon was surprised that Astoria had the capacity to remember other people whom she invited, what with Philippe Boisvert’s temporary occupancy demanding most of her attention. The Boisverts were to sit at table five, which was oh-so desirably placed in perfect view of Astoria’s table. Tables four and two were to hold more of Astoria’s maternal relatives; complementarily, table three would see many diners with the Greengrass surname. Finally, the girls reached the intriguing table one at which Rhiannon would find company with Astoria’s parents, grandparents, and cousins, but at which she might find distaste for Daphne and the unexpected presence of Leonard Mongaby.

“Mr Mongaby…?” Astoria gasped. “What is he doing here? And at our table! How awkward!”

“Christmas with our manager, how splendid,” Rhiannon said sarcastically. “D’you think he’ll make those clicking noises with his teeth if he don’t like the way we’re eating?”

“Oh, why did Dad do this…?”

“Might as well go with it,” Rhiannon said.

“Going with it” was exactly what Rhiannon was doing as the event began. About seventy people were due to arrive, and Astoria told Rhiannon to wait in the parlour with Philippe and Zéphir. Though typically unimpressed by the pair, Rhiannon was thankful to have them in her company whilst she was surrounded by Mrs Ciel-Greengrass’s French-speaking family. Unfortunately, though, after greeting Rhiannon, the boys reverted to their native tongue to speak about some of Zéphir’s English girls whom he obviously was waiting to see. Rhiannon could not really see what it was about Zéphir that gave him fans in two countries. Apart from the smooth attitude he played out and that French accent of his, he seemed quite average to Rhiannon. Yet even Rhiannon had to admit that Philippe was attractive. That was a problem.

After Philippe made some considerably unwanted small talk with Rhiannon, she developed the courage to peer outside of the parlour. In the massive drawing room across the hall, Rhiannon first saw Mr Davis towering above his daughter, who was quick to locate Max Lazenby and kiss him without any excuse of mistletoe. An otherwise very pretty girl who was unfortunate enough to have her brother Max’s nose chuckled at the couple before waving in Rhiannon’s direction. People never waved at Rhiannon, so she had learnt to never raise her hand if there was any doubt. As expected, the wave was meant for the French duo behind Rhiannon. In front of her, an octet was moving through the crowd to set up their instruments in the ballroom.

Although most parties arrived by the Floo Network, several without children Apparated onto the front steps outside and found themselves gaping at the mansion and failing to perceive the cold weather in their awe. They were encouraged inside by Astoria’s maternal grandparents, a sophisticated pair whom Rhiannon was anticipating to fail to impress. Very few were arriving on broomsticks due to the frigid weather, but there was one party of seven who made quite the show of doing so; the fast flyers were swirling outside in the snowy air, evidently familiar with the place. Finally they came to a stop and ran up the massive stone staircase outside to reach the front doors. A wizard in his late forties was the first to enter. Although his dress was just as formal as anyone’s, his long, brown ponytail seemed to subvert the air of aristocracy that others in his family possessed. It was interesting to compare this man’s long hair with that of Malfoy’s father; Rhiannon was reminded more of a pub owner than of a man of the gentry. The wizard was at least three feet taller than the old Ciel couple when he stood in front of them to shake hands, and his entry was loud enough to draw out Astoria’s father, who quite surprisingly dropped his composure to give the wizard a mannish hug.

“Faunus, what has taken you so long?” Mr Greengrass boomed.

Another man, about half the age of Faunus, came forward to bring the others into something of a Quidditch huddle and said, “Dad insisted on taking the brooms tonight and spent about twenty minutes trying to convince me to ride with Xylia. It might be my Squibism talking, but I can’t stand heights like that. So I must say, if you were inconvenienced, it is not _entirely_ Dad’s fault this time!”

“Nonsense, Renshaw! Where are the rest of my nieces?”

“But, Uncle, you’ve forgotten me,” said a wizard with a beard that aged him.

“Of course not, Sylvester. How could I forget the one who’s getting married in my house in the spring? Valera arrived a few moments ago –– she is in the drawing room now.”

Once Sylvester and his beard moved out of the entrance hall to greet fiancée Valera, Rhiannon got a clear enough view to recognise one witch in the interesting group: Ansel Greengrass, who had nobly told off Pansy Parkinson before the Yule Ball the previous Christmas. She, her mother, and the girl holding the largest broom who must have been Xylia all started greeting Astoria’s father whilst a third sister hung back slightly from the overwhelming pile of family and glanced lazily into the drawing room. Whatever the drawing room was displaying to her eyes at that moment did not impress her; she slinked round Renshaw to get a preview of the decorated ballroom and, in turn, permitted Rhiannon to get a preview of her. The witch had styled her inky hair in an inappropriate way for a ball even by Rhiannon’s standards. She sported spikes that must have been styled with magic, for her hair looked to be quite soft to the touch instead of stiff and gluey. A thick and elaborate diamond choker was round her neck; it very possibly was little more than an attempt to cover a purplish mark that drew Rhiannon’s attention even more than the myriad of tattoos revealed by the witch’s open-backed evening gown. The witch pulled the same move that Max Lazenby’s sister had only a minute before, smiling in Zéphir and Philippe’s direction –– that is, if Zéphir and Philippe had not moved away from the parlour entrance. Rhiannon wondered why anyone with a face as pretty as that girl’s would be smiling at the early-balding Frenchman who stood in the boys’ former spot. Then it occurred to her that that was not the case whatsoever and that she should return the smile. However, the witch had already disappeared into the drawing room.

The banquet began in an exaggerated fashion as far as Rhiannon was concerned. Each party was announced by Astoria’s paternal grandmother before being shown to their table by the house-elves. It could have helped Rhiannon identify people, but instead it nearly put her to sleep as she stood by the host family. Desperately hoping that no one witnessed her eyes’ profound drooping, she walked extra-perfectly over to her table and forced herself to stay awake during Mr and Mrs Ciel-Greengrass’s welcoming speech. After that, Rhiannon was swept into several formal introductions with the people at her table. Astoria’s grandparents, Mr Samson Ciel and his wife Emmaline, spoke no English, but they truly did not let that stop them from speaking to Rhiannon. Astoria served as the interpreter as the old couple asked her about school and her interest in music. This consequently brought Leonard Mongaby into the discussion, but his dry ramblings about managing a band dissolved into some compliments about Rhiannon’s guitar playing from Astoria’s Ravenclaw cousins, Adamina and Sofronia.

The first course was approaching, and Rhiannon had trouble deciding whether she would order caviar with orange slice or caviar in oysters since neither dish was desirable. Astoria ordered the one without the aquatic cymbals, so Rhiannon did the same and tried not to cringe as she swallowed the slimy little eggs. Her good heart prevented her from notifying the house-elves with the “do not like” cutlery position; she figured that as far as salty fish ova go, it must have been good, for the house-elves even went through the trouble of providing mother-of-pearl spoons to preserve the taste. Only Astoria truly noticed Rhiannon’s distaste for the caviar; she grinned widely and said, “Just wash it down” well beneath the volume of the table’s conversation. The second course was something of a seafood sculpture; two massive platters appeared on the table, and Rhiannon was happy that she at least could recognise shrimp and crab. During this course, she was gently interviewed by Adamina and Sofronia about the different ways that Muggles have to do simple tasks without magic. What intrigued them most was the vacuum cleaner, and Adamina mentioned to her mother that they ought to obtain one for the girls’ dad, who openly admitted he could not use magic.

“What do you say, dear? You could help with more chores that way,” Mrs Greengrass-Kippling prodded.

“More chores… Sounds superb,” her husband expressed with a laugh.

The third and main course was the most edible thing Rhiannon had seen so far; upon Mongaby’s enquiry, Mrs Ciel-Greengrass announced that the dish was broiled premium rib-eye steak with hachis Parmentier and a garden salad (that last of which should have already been quite evident to him). Mongaby ate his dish decisively and pointed his nose toward Rhiannon and Astoria when he had finished. Warping the table’s small talk into thorough dialogue, he asked the two when they would start working on their next album. Somewhat outraged, Rhiannon let Astoria do the talking to avoid losing that toff-like composure she was trying so hard to focus on.

“We’ve only just released the first one,” Astoria said, placing her cutlery in the “resting” position with style.

Mongaby received heavy looks from nearly every occupant at the table, but he continued speaking of business all the same.

“Astoria, do you know how many albums The Weird Sisters have, and they have only been together six years?” Mongaby said, faking a laugh in order to try to lighten the appearance of his demands.

“That’d be eleven,” Rhiannon said through the wind of a sigh. “But I don’t see how you expect us to do what they’re doing.”

“Because it isn’t only them, Rhiannon. The music industry for Wizardkind isn’t like it is with Muggles. How many artists have we got on the In.fine.it label? About twenty, and you’re one of them. Not to mention that there are only a few British indie bands running about. Think about it.”

Rhiannon tried to imagine what it would be like to walk into P.R.’s Music Shop and find albums from only about ten active bands. It was more out of pity for her fellow magical teens than out of cooperation that Rhiannon accepted the conversation for what it was.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Astoria said with a small smile, and Rhiannon knew that the discussion ended with that.

She wondered if Astoria was happy with the new songs that they had written and composed together. More and more songs in Astoria’s handwriting had appeared in the band’s notebook, but Rhiannon wasn’t sure if Astoria was coming up with music because Rhiannon had asked her to or if she was really motivated. How long would it be before Astoria got mad at Rhiannon again about something to do with the band? Just hearing about other bands and deadlines made her feel pressured. She knew that pressure like that could sometimes be enough to tear friends in bands apart; she wished that there was some way to get an honest answer out of Astoria about how she truly felt about being in Pariah. Lately, it seemed that Astoria had been enjoying it more, but Rhiannon had seen Astoria do plenty of stupid things to make other people happy. That was what made her sweet. That was what made her intimidating.

No fancy French words like “escargots à la bourguignonne” could disguise the fact that Rhiannon was given garlicky snails for the fourth course. It did not matter how “gourmet” the meal reportedly was. In the end, those were snails on a plate. The caviar was bad enough, but Rhiannon simply could not bring herself to eat the buttery gastropods. However, with the complicated snail tongs being more noticeable than, say, a spoon when not in use, the situation seemed hopeless and Rhiannon waited powerlessly as her faux pas became recognised. Astoria came to the rescue, as was her nature, and said very quietly that Rhiannon could signal the house-elves to take the food and snail-specific utensils away by putting her other cutlery in the “finished” position. She did just that, and the incident passed without any more offended looks from old Mr and Mrs Ciel. Rhiannon glanced round the banquet hall and felt pity for all those who did not know the secret to make the seasoned slime vanish.

Almost as if to make up for the previous course, dessert consisted of something that Mrs Ciel-Greengrass called “mousse aux deux chocolats” and a delicious persimmon pudding cake, the likes of which Rhiannon had never known before. To think that Astoria’s house-elves could be competitors of the Honeydukes bakers! Rhiannon could have had an entire meal of just desserts.

“My family starts the first dance in fifteen minutes,” Astoria said elatedly after finishing her mousse. “Then the ball begins.”

Rhiannon smiled.

“Where is your game room?”

Astoria did not smile.

“Rhiannon, you really should dance. I know you may not believe me, but you are very light on your feet now, and there are plenty of people here who would like to dance with you. Please try; I taught you so much. I promise it will be fun,” she argued.

Once all were in the ballroom, the octet played an energetic tune to which the Greengrasses did a quickstep. There was little lenience with the fact that only Greengrass family members were to show their dancing expertise for the first dance; only Sylvester Greengrass was able to dance with his fiancée Valera, whilst the rest ended up dancing with their cousins. The youngest six were all girls, but they seemed to know some protocol that whoever was older was leading. Ansel Greengrass was unlucky enough to be stuck with Daphne; fellow table-one diner Adamina Kippling was with the anonymous witch who had smiled at Rhiannon, and Astoria and Sofronia Kippling were sweeping across the floor. It was very different to see Astoria dancing from an outsider’s perspective. When Rhiannon had danced with her in the Astronomy library, she could not see how graceful the girl really was. The short dance ended, and after a merry applause, the Ciel family and other guests took their places on the ballroom floor. Rhiannon watched as Philippe and Astoria drew near to each other in a waltz.

Chairs and small beverage tables lined the walls, and Rhiannon picked a seat opposite the doors to the gardens. In the light of gold lanterns lining a walkway outside, Rhiannon could watch the light snowfall instead of the ball inside. She considered that she might dance eventually, but it would only be to keep some of her pride. It wouldn’t actually be fun. It wouldn’t be with Astoria.


	8. Voluptuaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astoria gets a big surprise when things go downhill with Philippe and Rhiannon in the same hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 8 - "You Don't Care About Us" by Placebo

Astoria needed a rest after the second waltz, for the initial quickstep at the beginning had tired her considerably. Still in his arms, Astoria asked Philippe if he would like to get eggnog with her back in the banquet hall, but he said he did not care for the beverage and decided to take a seat next to Rhiannon, who had not budged since the opening dance. Astoria decided that she had pestered Rhiannon to dance enough and instead asked her to join her for eggnog.

“I… well, I don’t like eggnog much,” Rhiannon said, wide-eyed.

“I don’t either. It is very like eggs with sugar to me,” Philippe related.

“Eggs with sugar, that’s a good way to put it,” laughed Rhiannon. “But, yeah, I mean, I could get some hot chocolate with you, Astoria.”

“Very well. Would you care for hot chocolate, too, Philippe?” asked Astoria, waiting for him.

“No, thank you. I am not thirsty right now,” he responded.

The twelve round tables had been Vanished away by Dimsie and Prissy, and the banquet hall now displayed a table with Christmas biscuits, candy canes, and goblets waiting to be filled. Rhiannon and Astoria each took a goblet and announced what beverages they wanted, and delicious cocoa and eggnog appeared their respective cups.

“I’m very proud of you for eating that caviar,” Astoria sniggered.

“Yeah, where’s my trophy?” Rhiannon said, holding out her hands. To her shock, a small golden trophy appeared in her right palm and she had to clutch it before it fell.

Astoria’s cousin, Orphée Ciel, beamed his pearly whites at Rhiannon in all of his splendour. After swigging her hot chocolate, Rhiannon finally cooperated and went to dance with the older boy, but she had to be nodded on by Astoria first. Astoria took her eggnog into the ballroom with the intent of drinking it whilst she sat with Philippe. He had moved from his spot. Astoria finished her drink and returned the goblet to the table, where it Vanished back to the kitchens. She stood in the threshold between the dining hall and the ballroom, eyeing the line of dance. Philippe was dancing with Lavender Brown. He did not see Astoria as the pair waltzed past her. That was a good thing, she considered, because her face must have looked pitiful. Since her legs were still tired anyway, she took his old seat and tried to reason with herself. Lavender Brown was the girl who was apparently bothering Rhiannon as well.

 _It must be in her nature to accost boys and drag them off_ , Astoria thought.

And since Philippe was so nice, he must have agreed to dance with her. He was sitting alone at the time anyway and probably did not want to be the only one sitting in the room. Although, if Astoria was the only one sitting in a room full of dancing, she still would have waited for her date to come back. Why hadn’t Philippe done that? Astoria was only gone five minutes. _She_ became the only one sitting alone, watching Philippe and Lavender come round again, but it was still Lavender who was facing Astoria’s direction when they went by. Perhaps the next time, Philippe would be the one facing her. He might make a funny face, which would indicate that he was somehow forced into the waltz. Perhaps Zéphir had put him up to it.

Rhiannon and Orphée passed Astoria, and Rhiannon saw her sitting alone. She looked quite surprised and started saying something to Orphée, but the line of dance kept them going. Soon they were gone. Draco and Astoria’s cousin Aura were approaching, and Astoria hoped that she would face Aura rather than Draco, who would later remind her that she was all alone during this song. Her wish came true, and then they were gone. Asenath blasted the view of her skulls-and-roses back tattoos as she went by with one of the Bourgs’ daughters in her clutch. Even the sight of the monstrous tattoos blended eventually. Then Philippe faced Astoria. He made no change in his expression even as Astoria raised her eyebrows at him. He was gone again.

What had happened during the time Astoria and Rhiannon went to get drinks? Hadn’t Philippe just spent the entirety of the previous day with Astoria? Had he not been so eager to dance with her earlier? Was he tired of her already? Astoria felt like shrinking, like hiding under her chair. She needed to hear his explanation for this. She stood when the dance ended and locked her eyes on Philippe. He would come back. He would be over in a minute with an excuse, maybe even a good excuse. Maybe even a story as complex as the feeling Astoria had in that moment.

No. Dancing with Max Lazenby’s sister was not a good excuse at all.

“Astoria, what’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

Rhiannon came over and placed a hand on Astoria’s shoulder. It was a gesture of support, but in that moment, it seemed to push Astoria down even further.

_Rhiannon, Philippe kissed me yesterday, and everything felt right again after five months of not seeing him. Rhiannon, I shared my first kiss with somebody who left me on the side of my own ballroom._

The statements were so simple, but Astoria could not say them. The situation was not simple –– the situation made no sense. At least, it made no sense to Astoria. Her cousin Orphée, however, immediately started calculating upon hearing Rhiannon ask where Philippe was.

“Philippe?” Orphée asked, drawing the girls off to the side of the banquet hall. “Philippe Boisvert? _Zéphir_ ’ _s_ friend? That is why he is here, because of you, Astoria?”

“…That’s, that’s right,” Astoria stuttered.

Orphée made a show of looking devastated. Astoria, who had been trying desperately to ignore the signs up until then, accepted the speech which was about to come.

“Astoria, Philippe tells everybody that he writes to a girl in each of the Hogwarts Houses. I did not know that you were the ‘Slytherin girl.’ I would have written to you if I knew he was doing this to my cousin. Zéphir, though…”

“Philippe is just like Zéphir…” Astoria said feebly.

What a game it all was to Philippe –– a “collect them all” game involving Hogwarts girls. Lavender Brown was Gryffindor, Medea Lazenby was Hufflepuff, and Astoria Greengrass was Slytherin. Whoever the girl from Ravenclaw was, Astoria would likely find out soon. But it mattered not. Philippe was not only two-timing, but _four_ -timing –– loyal to no one, out to pick the prettiest girl, or perhaps the loosest one, exactly like his best friend Zéphir. Why hadn’t Astoria realised that no one could be friends with Zéphir’s type without holding the same values? Why hadn’t she _known_ something like this would happen when Philippe had not written to her during the first term of school? She had felt that something was wrong, but she had tried to believe Philippe because being with somebody was so wonderful. She did not want to lose him. She had never had someone admire her so much; she had never admired someone quite in that way before. It was an exquisite feeling. Now it was shattered.

Orphée was hugging Astoria as she choked up, but she did not want to be hugged. She did not want to be supported by someone else. She wanted to grow up after seeing the world through a veil of pervasive naïveté; she wanted to rely on herself for once. And so she let her cousin go.

She walked out of the banquet hall and into a room full of the family’s holiday donations in the west wing. Rhiannon followed her, but Astoria made no acknowledgement. She had become embittered. Once, Astoria had been a sweet little girl, an unstained mind, something warm and gentle. Where was that girl now? Had she been entirely lost after learning the truth about people? If it isn’t abusive parents and racist schoolmates attacking Astoria’s best friend, it is dishonesty attacking Astoria. These were all things that she felt she had learnt about too soon. Was facing these conflicts truly necessary in order to grow up? Was there no other way to learn and develop than to lose one’s innocence?

Astoria drew her eyes away from the blackness outside the window to look at Rhiannon, and she then chastised herself for complaining about how the world was treating her. Astoria reminded herself that she had everything, and Rhiannon had had close to nothing throughout the most delicate years of her life. Astoria knew that there were worse things out there than being treated like a hooked fish. However, she wished that knowing that would alleviate the awful feeling she had.

“I’ll kick his arse. I bet he’s a right pansy if he tries fighting Muggle-style.”

Rhiannon was removing her pretty gloves to reveal her thickset arms, and it took all of Astoria’s willpower to tell her that using them against Philippe would not be necessary. It was plain to see that Rhiannon was eager to retaliate, but Astoria was not ready for any such action. She merely wanted to sit in the still room and calm herself. Preferably, she would be alone, but she could not find it within herself to send Rhiannon away. However, she could not find it within herself to cheer up for the other’s sake, either.

“Do… do you wanna talk about it? Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

“No, not right now,” Astoria said.

“Do, er, do you want me to get you another drink or somethin’?”

“I don’t; thanks.”

“Erm, if I can do anything to help you––”

“You can’t. It’s okay. Let it go.”

“Right. Right. Okay.”

Astoria could actually feel herself souring as she sat there under the perusal of her friend. It must have been at least two more dances –– two more of Philippe’s other girls. Astoria hoped that Rhiannon could not hear how ragged her breathing was; it would have been so much easier if Rhiannon wasn’t there watching her suffer. Not long after questioning the acoustics in the room which resounded her breathing, Astoria heard a vinegary voice laced with a countryside accent travelling in from the room across the hallway.

“Naturally that fool would place a _Mudblood_ at his head table…! Do you know I counted five squibs here? _Five_!”

Astoria stood and seriously considered removing her gloves as Rhiannon had done for a very similar purpose. Of course other wastes-of-space would have wiggled their way into the estate this Christmas if Philippe had been able to do so.

“Well, you were not expecting differently, darling…”

The second voice was softer; Astoria would not have heard it if she had not moved to the door. Rhiannon was close behind and against the wall as though the pair was on a secret intelligence mission.

“Mrs Malfoy?” Astoria said to herself. Rhiannon happened to hear her and nodded.

“So she’s having a talk with fussy old Lucius,” Rhiannon said. “I was wonderin’ when he’d break down here.”

“ _Shh_ ,” Astoria said. She had missed some of the couple’s discussion.

“That Adam always enjoys sticking thorns into my side––” Lucius Malfoy hissed.

How dare he speak of Astoria’s father that way! Indisputably, Lucius deserved all and any thorns that were apparently causing him such discomfort.

“Lucius, dear, be quiet. If they hear you, we can say farewell to the reputation we’ve worked so hard to repair…” Mrs Malfoy chirruped.

“Is that so‽ I remember when this family would have been a _stain_ upon my reputa––”

“I said let it _be_.”

The Malfoys’ footsteps could be heard going in the direction of the two event rooms, and Astoria exhaled the smoke of her anger. It was no wonder why the Malfoys were only present as a result of a hasty decision of Daphne’s. Astoria made a mental note to ban them from her property as she fell back into her chair by the window. Philippe was next on the blacklist. She wished to ban Zéphir as well, but unfortunately, he was in the family.

Astoria soon grew tired of the confining walls of the room and decided to return to the banquet hall since showing her face in the ballroom was still unthinkable, but occupants of the ballroom were gliding into the banquet hall like flies searching for food anyway. Astoria was quick to decline a request to dance by who she thought was one of the Humberston boys; Rhiannon felt the need to apologise to him for Astoria’s behaviour on account of her being “upset right now.” It offended Astoria to hear Rhiannon speak as though the pain Astoria was experiencing was as transient as the feeling of a pinch on the arm. She took a seat that granted her a view of the ballroom and glowered at Philippe when he passed by with yet another pretty –– older –– girl in his arms. Why Rhiannon chose to stay there and wait for everything to fix itself, Astoria did not know. She hated when others stared at her, but there was absolutely no way she could tell Rhiannon to leave without sounding nasty. Two more songs had played, and then Rhiannon decided to open her mouth.

“Y’know, a lot of blokes would dance with you. Forget about Philippe. We could get some drinks at that table over there, and you’ll probably get asked right away.”

“Do you think it is easy to get tossed aside? Do you honestly think I can forget about him just like _that_ , Rhiannon?”

“No, no, sorry, I don’t mean like that. I just thought if you’d dance, it’d take your mind off him a bit.”

“No. They’d all have something to say about my bad mood,” Astoria declared.

“Well, clearly you wanna dance. I mean, it’s your ball, so what should you care about some French berk? I was thinking dancing would improve your mood, make yeh feel better,” Rhiannon continued.

“I do want to dance, but I don’t want to dance with anyone who’s going to insult me.”

As though he was summoned by Rhiannon’s unwelcome discussion, Montel Davis approached them on his way back into the ballroom and kindly asked if Astoria would like to join him.

“No, thanks,” Astoria said, trying to hide her frustration.

“Are you okay?” Montel asked.

Astoria pretended she did not hear him. Rhiannon used that same “upset right now” line and made some cheerful comment to Montel in an obvious attempt to repair any damage Astoria had allegedly inflicted on him.

“Okay, Astoria, I get that this is terrible for you right now, but Montel’s our friend. You _know_ he wouldn’t be rude if you still looked a little sad. So what was that about?” Rhiannon pestered.

“He’d ask too many questions, Rhiannon. I just don’t want to be asked questions,” Astoria said abruptly.

“M-hm. Okay. Well, why don’t we go back to the other room, or to the game room or something? You look miserable here, and people are gonna start asking questions any minute now anyway when you got that face on,” whispered Rhiannon.

“What _face_ , Rhiannon? I’ve just been dumped!”

“Okay, you know what? Never mind,” Rhiannon said, and went to get a butterbeer. Despite her now obvious displeasure with Astoria, Rhiannon still returned to sit next to her. Astoria wished she hadn’t. Rhiannon seemed inappropriately relaxed. Very, very relaxed.

Astoria did want to dance, but she did not want to dance with anybody there. Her original desire was to dance with Philippe the whole evening; now she was spending the time watching him dance with the rest of his doll collection. There was no one else she wanted to dance with. The night was ruined. Rhiannon did not understand.

To make Astoria’s awful feeling worse, the Daphne-invited Millicent Bulstrode walked directly toward the two girls and took a seat next to Rhiannon as though she belonged there. Astoria anticipated that Millicent would ask for all of the dirty details of the situation with Philippe so as to report them to everyone in the House, and that the best that Rhiannon would be able to come up with would still be that Astoria was “upset right now,” which in no way would make Millicent go away.

“Hey, Rhiannon,” said Millicent as though the two had been good friends for years.

“Erm, Millicent, hi,” Rhiannon said and turned to Astoria as if she had all the answers to getting out of the situation. Astoria did nothing, for there was nothing to do.

“You know, Rhiannon…” began Millicent grippingly, and Rhiannon faced the unusually jolly girl. Astoria took interest as well; typically, Millicent was a shadow of Parkinson or otherwise acted like an emotionless bodyguard. Astoria might have been convinced that she was really looking at a kindly twin of Millicent’s.

“Asenath Greengrass has been wanting to talk to you since this ball started,” Millicent informed Rhiannon.

 _Asenath_? The night could not get any worse! Soon, another one of Astoria’s licentious cousins would be showing her face at the worst timing to uselessly bother Rhiannon. And, of course, Astoria would probably get dragged into the matter in the blink of an eye when all she felt like doing was closing her eyes and crying.

“Who’s that?” Rhiannon asked suspiciously.

“Rhiannon, let’s go––” Astoria pleaded, taking her now irritable friend’s arm.

“You don’t know who she is?” Millicent said amusedly.

“She?” Rhiannon asked earnestly. Astoria was tugging the girl’s arm desperately.

“Yes, _she_. I guess I’ll inform her you aren’t interested,” Millicent shrugged.

 _It_ ’ _s_ _over_. _Millicent is leaving_. _Please let it be over now_ , Astoria thought.

“Wait a second, who is she, then?” Rhiannon asked Millicent.

“Rhiannon, let’s go. Let’s go back to the other room,” begged Astoria.

“Oh, of course _now_ you want to go back,” Rhiannon said quickly.

“You know… the one with all the tattoos,” Millicent said languorously.

“…Her? Yeah?” Rhiannon said.

Astoria let go of Rhiannon’s arm. Something was not right. Why did Rhiannon look so interested all of the sudden? Perhaps she found it amusing… but that was no reason to snap at Astoria.

“ _Yes_ , her,” Millicent said with slight impatience. “You know –– _Asenath Greengrass_? Gosh, the name alone should have been enough for you. She’s the one who likes to find girls who are experimenting and, er… _conclude_ the experiment for them.”

_Oh gross!_

“You… wh––? Th-That so?” Rhiannon stammered.

Millicent smiled.

“Yes, yes, she’s the ‘Zéphir’ from Father’s side of the family, Rhiannon. Let’s go now. Let’s play a game of chess or something,” Astoria insisted.

“Er, all right,” Rhiannon agreed.

Astoria and Rhiannon were leaving the banquet hall at last when Millicent’s bossy voice snatched them from close behind.

“Wrong Greengrass, Rhiannon. I wouldn’t waste my time on that one if I were you. I made the same mistake with Pansy.”

“Wh––? What are you going on about, Millicent?” Rhiannon returned defensively.

Beyond Millicent’s rolling eyes, Astoria could see the impending doom approaching. Asenath was swishing a red evening gown behind her and coming in for the kill.

“Always difficult with the Muggle-born ones, Asenath,” Millicent said imperiously.

“Nonsense, Millie. They’re just _surprised_ ,” Asenath grinned through her blood-coloured lips. “Astoria, dear, how is Philippe treating you tonight? Not well, I see. May I recommend mister Montel Davis for the remainder of your evening?”

“Shoo, Asenath,” Astoria growled.

Both Asenath and Millicent ignored her and carried on with their odd, business-like discussion.

“This is Rhiannon Clarke,” Millicent introduced as Rhiannon herself stood shocked and speechless.

“Oh, I _know_ who Rhiannon Clarke is…” Asenath hummed.

“Don’t bother her, really,” Astoria cried out.

“Bother her? Let’s let the lady speak for herself, Astoria. Rhiannon, am I bothering you already? I’ve hardly had a chance to say hello…”

Rhiannon heaved a huge breath, and to Astoria’s disconsolation, said, “No, you’re not.”

Astoria could not put up with anything any longer. Did Rhiannon not understand that Asenath was not after her friendship? Was Rhiannon really that ignorant? With her fondness of Draco and her action of egging on Asenath, Rhiannon was really beginning to seem socially incompetent.

After a quick glace around to make sure there weren’t other relatives, Astoria declared, “Rhiannon, she’s got as many girls as Philippe tonight, and she wants you next. That’s what this is about. The whole thing. That’s the _only thing_ that this is about. Come now –– you aren’t interested.”

Asenath looked bored and unaffected; she even pretended to yawn to get the point across that Astoria was not deterring her mood. It was tacky. _Asenath_ was tacky, and she was apparently ignoring the fact that Rhiannon would have no predilection for her.

“Let the lady speak for _herself_ , Astoria,” sighed Asenath.

But Rhiannon did not utter a single word. She stood there, gaping at the wall opposite, frozen, awkward, and confused. Asenath took the opportunity to ask the poor thing to dance, after which Rhiannon looked round wildly as if she had been surrounded by a squadron of wand-happy Aurors.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re playing at, Asenath… Millicent… but you can stop right now, if only for your own damn good. You’re just being ridiculous now. People’re gonna hear you. All of Hogwarts is gonna know you asked me this shit.”

“Ridiculous, am I?” Asenath laughed, stupidly flipping her fringe out of her eyes for dramatic effect. “Rhiannon, before you run away, I want you to draw your pretty little eyes into that ballroom and find Astoria’s aunt Azura dancing with her wife, both Mr Gautier-Pinots dancing, the Proudhons trying to teach their children how to dance, and any girl I have danced with to pass the time before I could reach you.”

“W-Wife?”

Rhiannon uncertainly peered into the ballroom, and after squinting a bit, looked even more surprised than she had. Astoria was starting to grow as confused as Rhiannon was, for Rhiannon seemed to be giving Asenath a lot of regard… It was Rhiannon who was ultimately keeping them there, not the languid Asenath nor her personal secretary. But Rhiannon simply could not be interested in Asenath. Rhiannon liked a _boy_ ; she liked Draco. If Rhiannon was even remotely interested in women, it was news to Astoria, and Astoria was her very best friend. Although, if people like Draco and Asenath attracted Rhiannon’s attention, perhaps Rhiannon was attracted to idiots all round.

“You’ll soon find that things are very different in the Wizarding world, Rhiannon,” Asenath said, leaning over Rhiannon’s shoulder from behind. She pretended to spy on the events in the ballroom along with Rhiannon by dipping behind her with her eyes and pate above her shoulder and her nose poking against Rhiannon’s back. Astoria recoiled in distaste. How dare Asenath put her filth on Rhiannon! She was doubtlessly going to treat Rhiannon the way Philippe had treated Astoria –– as nothing more than a name on a list.

“I-I don’t get this. I don’t get this at all,” Rhiannon said, twisting round to face the other three girls. She looked so overwhelmed that Astoria wished she could use strong magic to get them away from Asenath and Millicent. But Astoria stood helpless with no decent words to say.

“You come from Muggles,” Millicent said a little too caustically. “I hear Muggles make a big fuss about things like ethnicity and sexual orientation…”

“A big fuss?” Rhiannon said despairingly. “A _big fuss_ ‽ People _die_ because of stuff like that!”

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Asenath said, showing the first signs of concern she had yet. “Yes, we do not have much in the way of those prejudices in the Wizarding world. It is my greatest regret to say that we instead have this obsession over blood purity… a nasty deal indeed. Well, I certainly do not care about that. Astoria and I come from a respectable family. I am lucky to be separated from all of those morons that cannot see how beautiful you are in their blind stupidity. Dance with me, Rhiannon. It is but one cage you do not have to keep yourself in now.”

Astoria lost her breath. How had Asenath figured out that Rhiannon would be somebody she could ask to dance anyway? Rhiannon had not indicated that she liked girls in that way at all. It made no sense. Christmas Eve had become one shocking eye-opener after another, but Astoria quickly gathered her senses. She was not about to let Rhiannon make the same mistake that she had the previous year with Philippe. Just because there was only one person showing interest did not mean that Rhiannon had to be with that particular person. And oddly enough, both Philippe and Asenath were not even truly interested in the respective two friends. Astoria could not lose Rhiannon in the quicksand that was Asenath Greengrass. She had recently discovered the feeling of getting used, and no one –– _no one_ –– was going to use Rhiannon.

“Don’t, Rhiannon, you don’t want this. I know how she works. Let’s go,” Astoria said.

“You don’t know what I want,” Rhiannon said furiously, stepping away from Astoria rudely and unnecessarily. “You’ve clearly _no_ idea what I want.”

“I know you don’t want to get involved with my cousin, Rhiannon!” Astoria said, not caring one bit if she had offended the relative in question throughout the entire discussion. Asenath didn’t even blink; she knew the statements about her were true. That, if anything, ought to have been a sign to Rhiannon, but she was quickly gravitating toward Asenath like a magnet. Astoria was losing her voice as Rhiannon started pouring buckets of anger onto her.

“You’re just jealous ’cos I’m gonna get to have a nice evening whilst you sit here all gloomy and complain you don’t have a dance partner! Philippe is _over_. So you know what, Astoria? If you were so worried about someone else asking you about what happened… if you were _so bleeding conflicted_ about getting to dance again… well, you coulda danced with _me_.”

Asenath took Rhiannon’s bad arm.


	9. Destigmatisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the f/f part of the fic :) x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 9 - "Girls" by Girl in Red

It was taking all of Rhiannon’s brainpower to comprehend the fact that no heads were turning when she and Asenath Greengrass walked into the ballroom arm-in-arm. To think that after experiencing so much hatred for being a Muggle-born, Rhiannon was not going to have anyone think badly about her for being a lesbian. She nearly doubted her sanity as she witnessed two men waltzing in line right next to the _Malfoys_ … and hadn’t Asenath indicated that these couples were married? That Astoria’s aunt had not a girlfriend, not a partner, but a _wife_? Did wizardkind not even have a concept of what it meant to be queer in the Muggle world? At best, that meant slight misunderstanding; at worst, it meant death –– hate crimes in the first world and execution in the third world. Parents threw out children that they had previously pretended to love. It was worse than being Muggle-born in the Wizarding world, but Rhiannon knew that historically, they were equally as awful. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or to feel guilty. Countless Muggles were not lucky enough to experience this sort of equality. It almost wasn’t fair for Rhiannon to be with this girl in public, for she only could guess at the hatred she would have experienced in the Muggle world for the same action.

“Do you want me to lead, Rhiannon?” Asenath asked, then started doing so regardless of any answer Rhiannon might have had. As the two were dancing, Rhiannon could not make up her mind whether to look round the room at people’s reactions –– or amazing lack thereof –– or to watch the smiling beauty in front of her.

“I didn’t mean to shock you so much,” said Asenath smoothly. “I was going to pick a better time to ask you to dance, really, but it looked like Millie was going to try to snatch you up first, and I couldn’t have _that_.”

“Er, no, you picked a good time,” Rhiannon replied. “Millicent doesn’t want nothing to do with me anyway. I’m Muggle-born.”

“She’ll grow out of that round me,” Asenath mentioned. “I think most of that came from her liking Pansy Parkinson. Oh well, it’s a learning experience, right? Liking girls that don’t want you.”

“…Yeah,” Rhiannon said. She certainly had learnt a lot.

Asenath and Rhiannon passed the open doors to the banquet hall, and Rhiannon could see Astoria watching them, or rather, watching for Philippe. She looked even more damaged than before, and a part of Rhiannon wanted to break away from the dance to go resolve things with her. The rest of Rhiannon had no desire to hear what Astoria would have to say about the incident. Rhiannon was glad that Astoria was not the sort of person to have prejudices regardless of this apparently gay-friendly society, but Astoria finally knew that Rhiannon was keen on her, and she might have more hurtful things to say than a simple “I don’t feel the same.” It could be the end of the best thing that Rhiannon ever had if Astoria thought things were too strange between them.

Before Rhiannon had any clue about the lack of homophobia in the Wizarding world, she had been diligently hiding herself. Any hope that she had the previous year about Astoria was based on the wishes that either Astoria did not know about herself yet or that Astoria was also diligently hiding herself. Then came Philippe, and Rhiannon thought that Astoria might have been a bit too diligent. Rhiannon wrote the song “Useless” in her disappointment and added it to her collection of unhappy music. But Astoria was very difficult to remove from the dreamier parts of Rhiannon’s mind, and the parts of her mind that provided her false hope soon formulated that Astoria could be bisexual. The past few months of closeness had further brightened Rhiannon’s hopes, and then Christmas Eve had no less than crushed them. The illusionary light at the end of the tunnel had shut off. Astoria had been clueless the whole time. Rhiannon could see the surprise on her face throughout the whole frantic discussion. And now Astoria was sitting in that banquet hall, knowing that Rhiannon liked her, and probably thinking of ways to make it an elephant in the room that would change their friendship regardless of whether it ever was said aloud again.

“It’s a pretty painful learning experience,” Asenath added quietly. “I’m… I’m sorry about my cousin. I, er, hope you won’t think all of we Greengrasses are as thick as her.”

“…Er, no. No.”

The dance ended sooner than Rhiannon expected, and she hated the feeling of Asenath letting go of her. She thought she might go check on Astoria and catch up with Asenath later, but when she saw that Astoria wasn’t in the banquet hall anymore, Rhiannon decided not to look for her. She probably didn’t want to be found anyway.

“Oh?” Asenath said happily as the pair failed to move from their spot on the dance floor. “Are we going to dance again?”

“I’ll dance with you all night if you let me,” said Rhiannon bluntly.

Asenath raised her modishly shaped eyebrows and grinned.

“Ah… Really? But the ball ends at midnight.”

 _Oh_.

“If you keep using lines like that one, how am I s’posed to ignore what Astoria said about you?” challenged Rhiannon as Asenath started a quickstep with her.

“Well, she paints me poorly if I may say so! Just because I’m not priestly like her doesn’t mean I’m what she says I am,” Asenath asserted.

“Is that so?” Rhiannon commented, freeing one of her arms to place a hand on the side of Asenath’s neck. Asenath whinged slightly as Rhiannon expected.

“That thing’s pretty new,” she concluded about the bruise behind Asenath’s choker.

Asenath smiled and took Rhiannon’s hand again, lacing their fingers and bringing her in just a little too close to allow room for the right dance moves. Rhiannon wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. Asenath didn’t give another answer; it irritated Rhiannon that the girl didn’t think she needed to. Rhiannon wouldn’t have kept dancing after that if it weren’t for the facts that she was not in any mood to see Astoria and that part of her greatly wanted to see what all the fuss about Asenath Greengrass was.

“So… let me guess… You’re opposed to dating a fan, aren’t you?” said Asenath bleakly.

“Heard our album, did ya?”

“It was brilliant,” announced Asenath sincerely. “I’ve always been a lazy little shit and never learnt to play an instrument. That you play guitar so well at this age really impresses me because I wouldn’t be able to do that. So I thought, ‘Hey, I need to talk to this girl and see if, you know, she Chases for my team.’”

“Then how did you know tonight?” Rhiannon asked curiously.

“The first thing you looked at was not my face,” Asenath said.

“Ah. Yup. That’ll do it,” laughed Rhiannon.

She was looking at Asenath’s face as they danced, though. It was interesting to see that two cousins whose fathers looked so much alike in the face could look so different from each other. Asenath evidently resembled her mother behind all of that unique grooming. Her eyes were hazel, and she had a thinner nose bridge and thinner lips than Astoria. Her smile was straighter and her teeth were whiter. In all truth, she could have been a model, though Rhiannon imagined she’d be more willing to pose as a tattoo magazine’s centrefold.

“That’s the sigil for love,” Asenath stated at random.

“What?”

“Your hand –– it’s on my tattoo of the sigil for love,” said Asenath gently.

Rhiannon instantaneously saw that she was in the wrong dancing position and that her hand was holding onto Asenath’s upper arm. She moved it back in place and saw many strange symbols that she hadn’t thought twice about before.

“Last kid I saw with as many tattoos as you was part of a gang,” Rhiannon mentioned before gasping at the sound of the statement. “No, sorry –– I didn’t mean it that way. I –– no, it wasn’t meant as a bad thing…”

“ _Shh_ , you’re fine, Rhiannon. What’s a pretty thing like you doing round gang members?”

“Oh, er, not me. They’re just kinda… there. I don’t know. I live in a rookery.”

The song changed to a particularly slow waltz, and after tut-tutting in pity at Rhiannon’s residence, Asenath took the opportunity to lean her cheek on the side of Rhiannon’s head as they danced. Rhiannon had a lot of trouble not enjoying it.

“I’m going to write to you over the rest of the break, you know,” Asenath said in Rhiannon’s ear.

Rhiannon giggled excitedly, either at the idea that this attractive girl was actually going to write to her or at the feeling of her lips on the top of her ear. The ballroom looked so different now that Rhiannon had Asenath with her. Asenath was the one who had saved her from the remainder of a dreadful evening, who had saved her from a load of unnecessary suffering, and who had pointed out that there was a world that Rhiannon did not know existed. Some of the night’s damage had been repaired, and after feeling the magnificent feeling of that gentle, dancing embrace, Rhiannon definitely knew what all the fuss about Asenath Greengrass was.


	10. Words of Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 10 - "Starry" as arranged by Namapann (生パン) (original "Starry Sky of Small Desires" by ZUN)

Astoria would not cry. In a room in the west wing, filled with the family’s holiday donation boxes, Astoria tucked herself out of view. But she would not cry. Astoria knew that if she started to cry, she would not be able to stop. There were too many tears behind the dam. Her attempt to numb the feelings had made her skin grow cold; for a time, she focused only on the ice. The music from the ballroom did not reach this place.

Rhiannon had never fancied Draco Malfoy. It would have been a good thing. It would have been such a good thing that Astoria could have sung in her joy that Rhiannon never fancied and would never fancy Draco Malfoy.

But instead she merely thought of a cutting tune about how “useless” she was.

In that song, Rhiannon had said that Astoria would gasp if she knew that Rhiannon liked her. That she did. She did gasp. Yet the song had said that she would laugh as well, which Astoria never did. She could not have laughed if the funniest thing in the world had happened in that moment, but Rhiannon was in the ballroom thinking that Astoria was having a grand old time laughing at her expense. She was thinking, just as that stupid song had said, that Astoria was going to abandon her. Astoria would never do that, but perhaps it was Rhiannon who would abandon _her_.

Astoria hated imagining what her past year and a half would have been like if Rhiannon had not been there. Rhiannon was always there. She was the best friend of all of them. She was a better sister than Daphne. Astoria did not love Rhiannon in the way that Rhiannon _wanted_ , but she did love Rhiannon. Losing her best friend over something childish like this was excruciating. If Rhiannon wanted to yell, let her yell. If Rhiannon wanted to sulk, let her sulk. To an extent, Rhiannon was probably even going to blame Astoria just for not falling in love with her, but eventually Rhiannon would settle down. Eventually Rhiannon would come to her senses, and Rhiannon would be Rhiannon again. Thoughts such as “or else” and “otherwise” weren’t working for Astoria. She and Rhiannon _had_ to make up.

How they were going to do that was a different subject, for Astoria could not think of any way to initiate it. Rhiannon’s feelings were now being poured onto Asenath as Astoria sat amidst the boxes, but Asenath was all wrong for her. Astoria had told Rhiannon that Asenath was going to do exactly what Philippe had done. It had _just_ happened to Astoria, so Rhiannon was truly acting like an idiot if she was willing to go through that after seeing its effects. It must have been ignorant excitement. However, Astoria could not warn Rhiannon any more about heartbreaker Asenath, for it might seem mocking. It would be in bad taste for Astoria to advise Rhiannon about romance since Rhiannon liked Astoria. So, Astoria really was rendered useless.

The problem with sitting alone amongst stacks of boxes was that although one felt somewhat protected by them, it also impaired her line of sight. Astoria felt protected and vulnerable at the same time, but as the vulnerability outshined the protection since Rhiannon was not with her any longer, Astoria moved closer to the door. There wasn’t an easily accessible chair in that area, so Astoria checked the contents of some boxes before determining that it was safe to sit on one that was full of clothes. She counted the minutes and reached seven and nine seconds. She heard her mother’s voice.

Her mother was speaking in French but was not speaking to Astoria. She was in the same area from which Astoria had heard the Malfoys’ conversation. What Astoria did not expect was to hear that Mrs Malfoy was speaking in there once again. What gave it away was that Astoria’s mother had addressed her as “Cissy.” But Astoria had never imagined that she would hear Mrs Malfoy’s voice so feeble and shaky.

“It was true… All of it was true. All of it. And I am supposed to keep lying like a coward. What kind of mother am I? Estelle, I can’t lie about this.”

“No, no. Cissy, calm down. Calm down, now. If you must lie to save your life, then I command you to lie.”

“It’s not my life I’m trying to save.”

“Well, you can trust me. You do not have to lie to me. Before, you did not lie to me.”

“That is why I am here again, Estelle. The very same reason. I have no voice except through you. You must save yourself again. You cannot listen to the papers because what the old man said is true, and I-I, oh… how I wish it wasn’t! I cannot _do_ this anymore, Estelle! My son…”

There was a long silence in which Astoria could hear her own teeth chattering. Mrs Malfoy seemed to be speaking about You-Know-Who’s return. She was confirming it from the _inside_. She knew through Lucius, and she had to warn Astoria’s mother in order to relieve some of the guilt she must have been feeling. Apparently, she could only tell Astoria’s mother, which Astoria understood perfectly. Her mother was the most reliable and righteous person she knew.

“You have to do something, Estelle,” Mrs Malfoy said desperately. “It’s going to be bad, Estelle. I-It’s… He’s…”

“I shall not reference you as I do so,” Astoria’s mother assured quietly. “Do not worry; you have my word. It shall be Albus Dumbledore’s statements that I refer to, as I have been referring to.”

“I trust so very few…” Mrs Malfoy faltered.

“Hush, Cissy. Is there any more you may tell me? Do you know when… when it will be?”

Mrs Malfoy continued stammering, because the effort she was making to control her voice was only backfiring. “When _what_ will be?” was too fearful a question for Astoria to ask herself.

“No, I cannot say… it… it could b-be soon, but it could be some time from now. I do not know, I do not know. I wish I knew. I-I wish I could leave, Estelle. I wish I could do as you can do. I wish _I_ could take _my_ family and escape this nightmare, as you did with your family–– my, my…”

Astoria heard a loud, terrified noise come from Mrs Malfoy that she was certain no one had ever heard from the woman before.

“They’re going to kill her,” Mrs Malfoy started sputtering. “Estelle, no, they’re –– they’re going to _kill_ her. I know they will this time.”

“Narcissa, I––”

“You _know_ they’re going to kill that idiot sister of mine, Estelle! Oh, damn it, Estelle, please tell her it is real… please tell her it is _worse_ than last time. She’ll get herself killed. That stupid, mudwallowing fool…”

“Excuse me, Narcissa,” Astoria’s mother interjected at the language, “I do not like to bring this up, but she has been a close friend to _me_ more recently than a sister to _you_.”

Mrs Malfoy sniffed, affronted. Astoria was not sure whether the noise had any secret tears behind it.

“She knows it is real, Cissy. She knows already.”

“If she already knows, then she is as witless as ever. She will not survive this here. Tell her, Estelle. She _must_ leave. And so must you.”

“Yes. I will do that. I will tell her very soon.”

“It did not come from me,” Mrs Malfoy insisted.

“I know.”

There was nothing more to the conversation except Mrs Malfoy’s reserved sniffling, which served as the score for Astoria’s exhausted thoughts until the women left for the ballroom. Astoria remembered when she had seen Mrs Malfoy in Twilfitt and Tattings before school started. Astoria had been feeling particularly disgusted with Daphne that day, and she thought that it was odd that Mrs Malfoy would be so noticeably distressed about it. But she, like Daphne, had a sister. She was estranged from that sister, just like Astoria always feared that she and Daphne would become. Estranged. Lost. Hardly family at all. Too many disagreements.

It was horrid to think about, but it was something that was familiar to Astoria. If she and Daphne were all grown and not in school, then that incident the last year with Blaise Zabini would have been much more grave. Two sisters who were not speaking. Two sisters who were strangers.

With the rise of You-Know-Who, Mrs Malfoy’s sister was in danger of death. That, and perhaps nothing short of that, was enough to trigger the sisterly instinct within Mrs Malfoy. It all seemed so clandestine, though, and Astoria knew that there was more than You-Know-Who keeping Mrs Malfoy from informing her sister herself. Look at who she chose to marry. She didn’t ever want to see her again; she just wanted to know that she was alive. It was odd. It was contemptible. But Astoria guessed that there were far worse people out there who would not try to warn their family members at all.

Astoria felt the anxiety rising in her stomach. It was not only Mrs Malfoy’s sister who needed to be warned. It was Astoria’s family, the “blood-traitors.” Whatever You-Know-Who had planned would be enough to require the Greengrasses to leave the country as they had to do before Daphne was born. Astoria did not want to envision herself as a refugee. She did not want to think of losing her home. But most of all, Astoria could not imagine losing her family. She did not know how soon the threat was coming. Apparently, Mrs Malfoy did not even know.

Astoria felt like screaming. Draco had tried to tell her about these things on the first day of summer holiday. If only she hadn’t buried the fear, if only she had told her parents immediately, then maybe they would have had more time. What if somebody died because they couldn’t get out soon enough? You-Know-Who could be going through his list of enemies list in that very moment, and Astoria could not protect anyone.


	11. Melting Ice and Clammy Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am now throwing sticks into the slow burn Drastoria. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 11 - "Careful You" by TV on the Radio

Astoria heard the strike of ten o’clock ringing from the bell tower and thought that the powerful noise might motivate her to do something other than cry into an old sweater. She was wrong. It made her cry more, for she remembered that she had been miserable since eight-thirty. She wondered if anyone would notice if she went back to her room and went to sleep. Her parents would, and who knows how much trouble she would be in then. They were likely still going by others’ statements that they had seen Astoria in the banquet hall a half an hour ago, but Astoria’s time alone was running out. Others would have to see her somewhere soon, or else she would start being searched for. The problem was that she could not stop crying out loud; she could not even get herself to the point of only having tears fall quietly. If anyone saw the hosts’ daughter walking round like that, there would be plenty of things to say about it.

“What a ruckus,” Astoria heard someone say in the hallway.

Alarmed, she stood to hide amongst more boxes, but she was not quick enough.

“Who’s crying? _Oh_ ,” said Draco Malfoy as he stepped into the room.

Astoria faced him, standing stiffly and clenching her teeth in an attempt to keep the sobs locked in. There were one-hundred forty-four other people besides Astoria in the house –– why did it have to be Draco who found her? Only Philippe, Zéphir, or Asenath would have been worse. With Draco, though, the whole school would know about this when they returned, and Astoria would hear about it from Draco until he graduated.

“Why do you people think that you can roam my house as you please?” Astoria uttered, referring indirectly to the young man’s parents.

“We can’t,” Draco said. “The upstairs is blocked with a charm.”

“Wh––? Why were you trying to get upstairs, Draco?”

“To see if your house really is bigger than mine.”

“Goodness, Draco, go back to the ballroom, please…”

“Why are you crying?”

“Oh, did the sound of human misery draw you in here?” Astoria asked sardonically.

“You know me too well, I think,” Draco said, trying not to laugh. “Where’s Phillip?”

“Not here,” said Astoria.

“You’re still crying,” Draco noted dumbly.

“If it offends you, then leave.”

Draco sat on a box to show Astoria that he was not going anywhere. Astoria continued to stand, but she tossed the soiled sweater behind a stack of boxes so as not to look quite as pitiful. He probably already noted the sweater anyway, but at least she could show him that she no longer needed it.

“What are all of these boxes for?” Draco asked, leaning his back against the wall as though he intended to take the room for himself.

“The family puts together things to donate to charity during the season,” Astoria said, rueing the fact that she was brought into a conversation.

“That’s a lot of donations.”

“Yes, we donate to Illyius Orphanage this time of year. Most of it is out-of-season clothes.”

“There are going to be a lot of smartly dressed orphans running round,” Draco commented.

“Most other people only donate worn out robes or moth-eaten coats.”

“Ah. So, why are you crying?”

“Give me one good reason why I should talk to you about this,” Astoria confronted.

Draco sat silently with a grin on his face. Astoria got another box of clothes to sit on.

“Because Clarke isn’t here to listen to you,” Draco said as Astoria plopped onto her box.

“That’s not a good reason.”

“Because holding things in is not healthy.”

“You read that in a book.”

“Because I am not leaving until you tell me.”

“That is a very sorry reason.”

“Well, if you tell me, I promise I won’t tell anyone else. How is that? It must be pretty bad if you’re crying at your own ball on Christmas Eve,” said Draco.

“Your promises mean nothing,” puffed Astoria.

“That’s not true. I’m not like Phillip,” Draco said, raising his eyebrows.

Astoria started crying again, releasing what she had been forcing herself to hold. Even Draco disappearing would not be a good enough remedy; _she_ wanted to disappear. Her hands were wet; she no longer had the sweater to catch her tears and hide her face. She remembered Parkinson’s comment at the worst time. She was ugly when she cried, and she was crying in front of Parkinson’s boyfriend. Thinking of how ugly she was when she cried always made her cry more, even when she felt it should have been motivation to _stop_ crying.

“I can’t believe I’m actually going to have use for this,” she heard Draco say.

He was holding his pocket handkerchief in her direction.

“Do _not_ give that back,” he insisted.

Astoria felt a single laugh come from beneath her hand that was trying to hide her face. She took the silk handkerchief, which was not very absorbent. After cleaning away the sorrow, she kept her face buried behind it, for she knew her face was still screwed up and red. It smelled like Draco, though.

“Thank you,” Astoria said.

“Yes, you ought to thank me. Father’s going to say, ‘Draco, boy, _where_ is your pocket square? You are the only one here without a pocket square, Draco –– even the _Squibs_ have pocket squares!’”

“Then remind him that a gentleman always offers his handkerchief, and that he has a nobler son than he thought,” Astoria said in a sniffly voice.

“…Gentleman? You’ve never called me _that_ before,” said Draco carefully.

“You’ve never _been_ one before.”

Draco didn’t respond, and it created an awkward silence that felt worse than if he had said something rude. He really should have left; Astoria did not want to show any more weakness. Since Draco knew about the situation with Philippe, his staying there was making Astoria feel humiliated.

“So,” Draco coughed. “Clarke and the Frenchy both left you, then.”

It hurt even more when someone else said it.

“They did,” Astoria confessed.

“Wow. You’re the reason they’re even allowed to be here. Ungrateful morons.”

Astoria did not reply. She did not have much energy left to think of things to say.

“Clarke’s with that Gryffindor cousin of yours.”

“I bet she is.”

“Phillip’s with Jennifer Pettrochi.”

“That’s his Ravenclaw then. Thanks for the update.”

“I danced with her a couple of times. She had bogeys in her nose.”

Astoria smiled at the floor.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Thanks for what?” he asked carelessly.

“For making me feel better,” Astoria clarified.

“I was only stating a fact. Are you going to go back to the ballroom, or are you going to stay in here all night?” Draco pressured.

“I can’t show my face there,” Astoria said honestly. “I might go to the game room so my parents don’t get angry.”

“Oh,” he said. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“The girls aren’t impressed by your French, are they?” Astoria teased.

“Not at _all_ ,” Draco said.

Astoria was surprised that her joke had been so accurate. Draco looked like he had a very embarrassing memory fresh in his mind, perhaps related to his escaping the ballroom and travelling through the house.

Astoria and Draco went to the banquet hall first since Astoria desperately needed something to drink for her sore throat. The two sat down by the window, keeping their eyes on the food table rather than each other. Tracey Davis came over after spotting Astoria.

“Astoria, are you okay? Montel said you were really upset earlier, and I couldn’t find you.”

“I’m sorry. I feel better now. Thank you, Tracey. Are you enjoying yourself?” Astoria changed the subject.

“Oh, yes! Gosh, do I love this place. It’s like a palace! And the music and the dancing and the decorations… Max said your place feels like something in a storybook! Haha, it’s great. Thanks for inviting us!”

“Of course, Tracey! Oh, I think Max has your hot chocolates. Send him my regards.”

“Your regards? You’re so funny, Astoria! I’m glad you feel better.”

Draco finished his butterbeer soon after Tracey left, and as soon as he stopped looking in her direction, something else, apparently unpleasant, caught his eye.

“Oh shit,” he mumbled.

“What’s wrong?”

Draco’s ironic laugh mostly consisted of air.

“My father doesn’t look very happy that I’ve missed the last twelve dances.”

“I can’t even imagine what _my_ parents are thinking. I haven’t danced since the third song,” Astoria sympathised.

“Agh, he’s still looking over here…” Draco grumbled. “Plenty of people are not dancing…”

“Dancing certainly isn’t mandatory for the guests,” Astoria reminded him.

“Yeah –– well, no,” he said, scratching the back of his neck restlessly. “He said that if I’m not dancing, I should be mingling. Do I hate _mingling_.”

“It should have looked like you were mingling enough for him,” she thought aloud. “Tracey was over here, and you’re still talking to me. Perchance he just had a look on his face…”

“No, no,” Draco sighed in utter exasperation. “He did the head jerk.”

“The… the head jerk?”

“Yes, you know…”

Draco checked to make sure that Lucius had left before flicking his head to one side a single time with his eyes wide and his eyebrows firmly set.

“…the head jerk.”

Astoria understood what it meant when laughter was hailed as the best medicine.

“I see. You ought to go dance or mingle, then, I’m afraid.”

“That’s another problem,” Draco said dramatically. “Do you remember last Christmas when I did that huge favour of dancing with Daphne at the Yule Ball after Blaise had dumped her? She won’t return the favour, but my parents said that I needed to dance with a Greengrass before the end of the night so your family likes us, or something stupid like that. I don’t think your family is going to like us either way, really.”

Astoria recalled Mrs Malfoy telling her husband to be careful about what he said about the Greengrass family, and Astoria knew that they had been unsuccessfully trying to ingratiate themselves for several years. Draco was comically unaware that he was not supposed to indicate that, but Astoria’s family knew the Malfoys were sycophants anyway.

“Ah. All of Uncle Faunus’s girls are either too old or too gay for you, I’m afraid,” she said. “Aunt Thalie’s daughter Artemis is twenty-three next year…”

“And your sister’s really unappreciative,” he groused.

“Oh! Adamina and Sofronia are getting biscuits right now. They’re my cousins; they just don’t share my last name. You can tell your father that. Go ask one of them; they’re really nice,” Astoria said, trying to be of some help.

“I know. They’re _too_ nice. They won’t associate with me –– somebody must have said something to them in school…”

Most of the student body was well aware of what sort of a person Draco was. It was his own fault if no one in her family would dance with him. It would not look good for a Greengrass to dance with a Malfoy even though it would look very good for a Malfoy to dance with a Greengrass.

“Don’t make that face at me,” he said dryly. “Listen, would you get your sister to dance with me just once –– for a two-minute song or something, so my father will leave me alone? She really owes me, you know.”

“Don’t you think you’ll look a bit sorry if you send me to do that? Besides, I saw her go to the ballroom with one of those beautiful Humberston boys. We aren’t going to see her any time soon.”

“Damn it.”

Astoria and Draco sat quietly for a few moments, pondering how much they had danced around the issue of dancing. Astoria took both of their glasses back to the table and returned with resolve.

“I also owe you a favour, since you had to pull me out of my hiding spot and back to my own ball,” Astoria said to Draco, looking at the window above his head rather than him. She regretted that, for she missed his resulting facial expression.

“I thought you couldn’t show your face,” he said.

“I can show my face if I’m with someone who can’t show his face, either. I _am_ curious about what you said to Aura that caused that problem, but I will let it go since I don’t want to feel your second-hand embarrassment.”

“Oh, _thanks_ ,” Draco said. “So, er, the next song, then?”

“Well, we can’t jump in in the middle.”

“We could if we pushed Phillip and Pettrochi out of the line. I have plenty of experience of getting people out of my way.”

“Such savagery,” laughed Astoria.

Astoria never imagined that she would ever walk arm-in-arm with Draco Malfoy. She felt like she had eaten strawberries with mouldy cheese. It was one of those times when he was acting agreeably. He was calling Rhiannon “Clarke” instead of “Mudblood;” he was helping Astoria feel better; he was tartly funny without being too offensive. All of that was decent.

But Astoria remembered Draco differently. He was painfully immature; he caused trouble for the sake of causing trouble. He was inconsiderate and arrogant. He placed even more value on material things than Astoria did, and Astoria often worried that _she_ was materialistic. He was prejudiced; he was raised ingrained with prejudice by a father who was about to fight on the wrong side in the upcoming conflict. What would Astoria’s family think when they saw her dancing with Draco? What would _Rhiannon_ think?

If Astoria could broadcast a message to their minds, it would be that she would not be dancing with Draco Malfoy if he wasn’t showing the side that she liked. If she could keep only this side of Draco, if she could get rid of the fear that he would follow in his father’s footsteps, then she would actually be quite happy despite all of the terrible things that had happened that evening.

“You missed a step,” Draco said snootily. “I thought the Greengrasses were impeccable dancers.”

Astoria didn’t say a word. Draco was a much better dancer than she thought.

“You know, people don’t usually smile when they’re insulted,” he continued. “Too many butterbeers?”

“That must be it,” she smiled again.

She made a few glances round the ballroom, and those were all she needed to see that Rhiannon had already seen her with Draco. Her parents had seen her with Draco; she could tell by her mother’s aghast face. What happened to Philippe, her mother would wonder. Well, Philippe and Jennifer Pettrochi were almost parallel to Astoria and Draco on the dance floor, looking as if they had fallen in love. _That’s_ what happened to Philippe.

Astoria could notice the slight fuss that her family was making and hoped that Draco would not see it. Evidently, some of her mother’s side had caused him enough embarrassment already. It seemed that the only people in the entire manor who were happy to see Astoria and Draco dancing were his parents. Astoria did not care whether they were happy about it or not; she did not care if anyone was happy about it or not. She did not even care that Rhiannon had actually managed to fight off some of Asenath’s hypnotism in order to stare at this event. Both girls were dancing with people whom each other thought were very poor choices. But Astoria had done enough for Rhiannon already. It was time to do something for herself –– to dance with Draco, who had alone salvaged what was left of the Christmas Eve ball.

“You didn’t tell me your family was going to be so upset over this,” Draco said quietly.

“I didn’t tell you because I don’t care how they feel about it,” she responded.

“Oh.”

“You missed a step,” she pointed out.

“That’s all right. You’ve missed about five now.”

“I’ve missed two,” Astoria said truthfully.

“Hm, no, it was definitely five,” taunted Draco.

Astoria rolled her eyes and finished the dance with only two, not five, missed steps.

“Let’s go to the game room before your dad makes you mingle,” she said.

Astoria lost a game of draughts to Draco, who had plenty of things to say about it which distracted him from being able to win the second game. He was then quite sore.

“Do you want me to bring you anything back from the banquet hall?” she offered to cure him.

“You are Astoria Greengrass, right? She would never ask me that.”

“I am, but if your father sees you out there, he’s going to be upset that you’ve missed nine more dances. I think the last formal one is coming up now.”

“Oh,” Draco said, rapping his fingers on the table nervously. “Is it… It’s starting?”

“I will dance with you again,” Astoria said with a slight air of superiority.

Her second appearance with Draco in the ballroom drew in even more attention, but Rhiannon was among the few who did not catch a glance at the pair; she was being swept round again by Asenath and looked as though she didn’t even know that other people were in the ballroom.

About halfway through the dance, things started to feel strange, and Astoria wasn’t exactly sure why. She did not know if only she felt awkward, if Draco had started acting awkward which made her feel it in turn, or if awkwardness had swallowed both of them at the same time. Refusing to let the feeling eat away at the moment, Astoria prompted a conversation about the holidays which buoyed them to the end of the dance. She found that Draco’s family typically had a quiet Christmas Day, but they often had a New Year’s gathering in which his parents invited “a bunch of important old people” with whom he had to converse.

“More mingling?” she asked.

“No, it’s worse than you think,” he insisted. “Everyone notices everything I do, even more so than they do here.”

When the song ended at the eleventh stroke of the clock, Astoria and Draco went into the entrance hall and took seats with views of the ballroom. There, they poked fun at those who danced freestyle, saying they looked like their pants were on fire. Eventually, Draco daringly brought up the subject of Philippe, but Astoria decided she didn’t mind.

“That Frenchy of yours looks like he got hit with a bad Dancing Feet spell.”

“He’s Jennifer’s problem now,” Astoria commented. “And Lavender’s. And Medea’s.”

“…Hey, isn’t he staying here?” Draco wondered.

Astoria was overtaken by an awful feeling. Philippe was supposed to stay until the Ciel side of the family left. That meant two more days of having him in her house and seeing him at mealtimes. After what had happened, she did not care if he was forced to stay in the stables until he left. Maybe they could kick him out. No, that would cause a scene.

“He is.”

“ _That_ ’ _s_ going to be interesting,” said Draco.

“It’ll be Christmas, too, so it isn’t like I can stay in my room,” she complained.

“I still think it’s better than my New Year’s spent talking to Madam Marchbanks about her Brussels Griffon.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said. “Oh, look, Daphne just tripped!”

The two were back to sniggering again until Philippe and Jennifer Pettrochi slinked out of the ballroom and started kissing, unaware of any other presence. Astoria looked at Draco, who stared judgmentally of the two. It heartened her.

“I got the eggnog, Philippe,” she said portentously from her seat.

Philippe whirled round whilst Jennifer peeked over his shoulder.

“Astoria––”

She stood up and stepped toward him only once.

“Not in my house, you bastard.”

Jennifer had fled. Philippe nervously scratched his head before escaping to the ballroom without another word.

“That was scary,” Draco congratulated.

There were only thirty minutes of his company left.

“I tried,” Astoria responded.

Was Draco going to relapse as soon as the night was over and be repugnant again?

“What time is it?” he asked.

She didn’t want to tell him.

“Eleven-thirty,” she said at last. “The clock’s right there.”

“Do you want to go play a game of backgammon? I’m tired of sitting in this old chair.”

Astoria was terrible at backgammon.

“All right,” she said.

She lost.

The final dance of the night drew a large crowd to the ballroom to try their feet at freestyle one last time, and Astoria and Draco watched what they could see from the door of the game room. She half-expected the stroke of midnight to release some pervasive spell from Draco –– he would start acting intolerable again at any moment.

His parents were not among the first to leave; they were busy waiting for their turn to flatter hers. Guests started filing out of the ballroom to go to the fireplace. Astoria’s relatives located her, and she lost count of how many hugs she had to give. Over the shoulder of her aunt Laureline, she could see Rhiannon and Asenath kissing goodbye. Astoria wore the same expression about Asenath that her relatives had when they saw her arms around Draco.

“Your family is enormous,” Draco remarked after Astoria had seen off most of her relatives.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect them to trap you in the room like that with their hugging.”

“My parents aren’t ready to leave anyway.”

As soon as he said it, he jinxed it, for Lucius did the infamous head jerk. Astoria followed Draco to the threshold of the entrance hall, where their parents stood. It was difficult for Astoria to face Mrs Malfoy after overhearing two of her extremely private conversations, but when Mrs Malfoy made a wholly false fuss over her, she responded as warmly as possible. Astoria said goodbye to Draco, which absolutely should not have been as difficult as it was. Then the Malfoys went home.

Rhiannon had already gone to her room. After a few short and unavoidable conversations with her parents, Astoria went to hers without paying the other girl a visit. If Philippe had not made some excuse to go home, he was probably saying bad things about her to Zéphir in her own house. Philippe wasn’t important anymore, though. She would determine what to say to Rhiannon when she got to her room, would wake early the next day, and would make amends with her before the Christmas festivities took place. Astoria was all ready for bed when she started to well up again.

 _Tomorrow is going to hurt_.

She skulked back out of her bedchamber, down the main staircase, and into the west wing on the first floor. In a room full of boxes, Astoria retrieved the sweater she had cried all over. Fallen between two boxes was a silk pocket handkerchief.

The sweater was thrown down the laundry chute. The handkerchief still had some more confused tears to catch.


	12. The Precaution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 12 - "Rainin'" by Sponge

Christmas morning started early for Astoria, for sleep had not agreed with her the whole night. After sitting in bed and contemplating the events of the ball, she decisively travelled to Rhiannon’s door and rapped her fist against it. There was no response, so Astoria tried again. Rhiannon opened the door as though she had been awake long before and had simply ignored the first set of knocks. It was then that Astoria lost everything that she had planned to say. Rhiannon met her with equal silence. If either one of them would apologise, it might have relieved some of the apprehension, but neither felt they were guilty. It was more appropriate to communicate than to apologise.

“I had no idea,” Astoria began. “I don’t want to repeat myself, but please understand that I had _no_ idea about your feelings.”

Rhiannon did not respond.

“I didn’t seek you after that exchange because I felt you would not want to talk.”

“Yeah, same.”

Even two words from Rhiannon felt relieving after Astoria endured the expression she was receiving from her.

“I’m sorry for hiding after that. It was a wreck of a night,” Astoria said. “But I’ve done all my crying now, and I am here to listen to anything you need to say.”

“Whaddaya think I’m gonna say?” Rhiannon asked aggressively.

“I think you really ought to say the rest of the things I don’t know about you, since you are my best friend, and I don’t think I could take another misunderstanding on this level,” Astoria steadily responded.

“Think you know just about everything about me now,” said Rhiannon.

“You resent me,” Astoria said softly.

“No, I wish I did.”

Astoria wished that it wouldn’t be inappropriate to hug Rhiannon. A hug could have said more than these words were saying, but it could have felt like a very painful sting to Rhiannon. Astoria stayed in place.

“I’m always tempted to make up for disagreements by giving gifts,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

“I don’t want your things. I don’t want _stuff_ ,” Rhiannon said frustratedly.

“No, you don’t. And that is what makes you such a great friend. You aren’t after me because of my family. You only wanted someone good for you. I was not good for you last night. I was bitter because of Philippe, _too_ bitter to justify my behaviour toward you. Later, I found out that I broke your heart and still have no idea what to say. I feel horrible and I don’t know what to say…”

“God, Astoria, don’t get upset because you’re straight. That’s just weird,” Rhiannon sighed.

“I’m not upset because I’m straight! I’m upset because we’re quarrelling!” Astoria retorted. “And over something stupid like this! I want things to go back to normal. Is that selfish of me? To want the friend I’ve always had back?”

Rhiannon was merely staring at the floor.

“Well,” Rhiannon said gradually, “we’ll get back. But, I mean, it’s, er… Well, let’s say you’re gonna have to make a better effort to piss me off, so it’s, y’know, easier to not like you.”

Rhiannon concluded with a nervous, choking laugh. It was a painful sound to hear.

“I spent two hours with Draco Malfoy last night after he caught me crying,” Astoria said cooperatively.

“Well, that’s a flying start!” Rhiannon hooted.

There were a few words about morning plans between the girls, but overall, Astoria left Rhiannon’s door barely satisfied that anything would be okay. She stayed close to Rhiannon’s side at breakfast as if Rhiannon was still there to support her when Philippe entered the room. Rhiannon mostly observed Astoria’s actions at the table; sympathy was a scarce resource, and Astoria received hardly any. It made it difficult to be near Philippe. She felt like she was stuck between running away and throwing her food at him. He was able to act like Astoria did not exist; she wondered how much of his concentration that required. She thought she might say something to him before church, but decided to let him keep his guilt.

Astoria’s relatives were parishioners of a disproportionately small church that could fit no extra people without an Undetectable Extension Charm. That Christmas morning, the charm had to be implemented to make room for those who decided to come along. The problem was that there were more family members there that morning to see Astoria inevitably tear up when that church music played. They always knew she was the “crying one” in the family. Rhiannon was unforgiving and kept staring at Astoria as she cried, but it later seemed that seeing Astoria acting so silly had softened Rhiannon.

Only after seeing a gift addressed to her from Philippe did Astoria realise that she had entirely forgotten to buy him a Christmas present. Bitterly, she thought to herself that it no longer mattered. She resolved to make no display of giving the still-wrapped present back to him; she merely left it under the Christmas tree. It didn’t matter what the gift was.

Reaching for Rhiannon’s messily-wrapped gift made Astoria nervous, for she felt that Rhiannon would resent her anew for taking the gift. The internal nervousness became a noticeable shivering when Astoria opened a jewellery box from Twilfitt and Tattings to find a fabulous moonstone necklace.

“Oh my…” Astoria said through panic. “Oh, Rhiannon, I can’t… I simply can’t.”

“Do you like it?” Rhiannon asked quietly.

“It’s beautiful, Rhiannon, but I cannot accept this gift… You must have paid twenty Galleons for this…”

Astoria was beside herself. Sturdily but quietly, she brought herself to say, “Rhiannon, I am not the girl you should give this to. Y-You bought this when––”

“I bought it when you were my best friend, and you still are my best friend. Whether or not I have the chance I thought I might have had before doesn’t matter. I don’t think no one else deserves jewellery outta me.”

“Well, I certainly do not!” Astoria argued frantically.

“Stop your fussing,” Rhiannon said offhandedly, reaching for a gift addressed to her. “I still want you to have it as a token of _friendship_.”

The last word Rhiannon emphasised with humour, and it was the most assuring thing she had done yet. Rhiannon was ready to stop being angry at Astoria, and it was the best Christmas present Astoria would receive that day.

Rhiannon’s favourite present had been a lengthy letter from Professor Lupin, who had not been able to write to her much at all since Umbridge took over, along with an assortment of festive Christmas chocolates. She walked all over the room as she read the letter. Eventually, Rhiannon returned to her spot to grab a large gift addressed to her.

A Nimbus Two-Thousand One –– perhaps the most coveted of presently marketed brooms –– had been given to her by none other than Professor Sinistra. Rhiannon remained still with the broom resting atop her knees for such a long time that Astoria encouraged her to stretch out her legs.

“This is a… Quidditch broom,” Rhiannon said throatily.

“Well, obviously,” Astoria laughed. “What a wonderful present!”

“Well, yeah.”

“What’s the matter, Rhi?”

“Oh, nothing. Acid reflux.”

“We have potions in the cabinet…” Astoria offered.

“No, I just… I just never told her how much I liked Quidditch. I’m a little surprised.”

“She must have figured it out.”

“I can’t see how.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I mean, for Professor Sinistra, I just got a stupid book with chocolate fairy cakes on the cover. And she comes back at me with a Quidditch broom. I am _officially_ a bad person.”

“Oh, don’t say such a thing. How were you to know that a teacher would get you a broomstick for Christmas, or any gift for Christmas for that matter?”

“I don’t know about this,” Rhiannon said, gently brushing the bristles of her new broom.

“I don’t think that was the professor’s goal.”

“Then I’ll go fly, then!” Rhiannon determined and went to bundle up for her chilly adventure.

After putting away her Christmas presents, Astoria watched Rhiannon soaring from inside the comfort of her warm room. Rhiannon was extremely adept for someone who had only the experience from her first-year Flying class; Professor Sinistra had certainly pinpointed an excellent present.

The next morning, Philippe left the estate along with Astoria’s French relatives, but unlike them, she would likely not see him again. The two said nothing to each other upon the departure, and it felt that as he left, something had been viciously stolen from Astoria. It was not Philippe, but merely his memory. Her heart aching, Astoria went back to the room in which Draco had rescued her on Christmas Eve. All of the boxes had been cleared out and donated, and without any piles surrounding her, Astoria felt peculiarly lonely in the empty room. When she was about to leave it, however, she met her mother in the doorway. Apparently the time had come for a private talk.

“Astoria, your father and I…”

The pause was unbearable. An opening like that could mean anything.

“Your father and I have decided to have Rhiannon stay with us for the summer.”

The smile that her mother forced created a feeling as close to a physical burn as psychologically possible.

“How would you like that, dear?”

It was as though she was asking a child about nothing more than a prolonged sleepover. Certainly it was many a child’s wish to have their best friend live with them. But didn’t her mother know that Astoria wasn’t stupid? The splendour that a little girl might have upon hearing that news was unreachable for Astoria, for the reasons why such an arrangement was necessary were ghastly. Rhiannon lived in terrible poverty, and her mother abused her. Astoria’s true feeling about the situation was that they should have taken her in sooner. There was no other option since Mrs Malfoy’s dire news had arrived at the estate.

“I think it is a wise decision,” Astoria said stiffly, “as a precaution.”

Her mother’s expression changed. She became forthright, and Astoria could tell that she was having difficulty with it. She usually censored everything for her children.

“You heard Narcissa and me, no?” she said shakily. “I thought I sensed you crying.”

Astoria nodded, and avoided making eye contact with her own mother.

“Rhiannon will be safe here,” Astoria’s mother said quietly, bringing her into a hug.

Astoria tuned out the rest of the dialogue. She already knew that Rhiannon would be no safer than they would. When her mother left, Astoria walked into the drawing room where only a week before, she and Rhiannon had warmed their toes by the fire and thought excitedly about the Christmas banquet.

The door bells sounded when Astoria least expected any house guest, and with all of the freshly stirred fear in her, she shrieked in fright. The loud noise of her scream caused Prissy the house-elf to shriek instead of answering the door, and after several moments of bedlam, Dimsie answered the door for a chilled witch who had arrived on broomstick.

“The Mistress will be with you soon indeed!” Dimsie piped and showed the stranger into the drawing room.

Astoria was paranoid, unsure if Dimsie was actually expecting the guest’s arrival or if she was being ignorant at the price of the family’s safety. Soon it became apparent that there was not a huge risk, for the witch began removing her winter garments and placed them in the hall closet as though she knew the place. Astoria thought that she had seen the woman before. She must have been one of her parents’ friends, for she was their age, and Astoria always made a point of recognising even distant relatives, whom this woman was not. This woman had short, curly, dark brown hair, blue eyes, and large, but unpainted, lips. She was not much taller than Astoria but was holding herself much straighter at the moment.

“Goodness,” the woman said to herself. “I barely recognised you without those little doll ringlets, Astoria. Has it really been three years since I last saw you?”

“Erm, well, I only grew my hair over the summer…” Astoria said dumbly as she was trying to think of events from three years prior.

“Well, if it was three years, then saying ‘My, you’ve grown’ would be quite a silly thing to do. One would certainly _hope_ you had grown in that time, wouldn’t one?”

“…Oh, yes.”

“Ah, you don’t remember me?” the witch inferred. “I, too, cut my hair. I couldn’t seem to pull off the ‘old lady with long hair’ look. At least I can say that I tried.”

The witch patted her hair reflectively before settling into a chair.

“Oh, right –– I’m Mrs Tonks, dear. Does that ring a bell?”

“Why, I know you!” Astoria smiled. “You’ve come to our Vernal Feast before. How nice to have you here again, Madam. I believe Prissy will bring tea shortly…”

Instead of Prissy, Astoria’s mother entered, carrying the tea and speaking in French, to which Mrs Tonks freely responded.

“Andromeda, my dear, it is lovely to have you here again.”

“It’s always lovely to be here, Estelle. How is Adam? How is Daphne?”

“They are both doing well. Adam recently resigned from his job –– you know the Ministry these days –– but he is content to work on projects here. Daphne will be taking her O.W.L.s this year, but it seems she does not care. How surprising. How are Edward and Nymphadora?”

“Ted has become involved with _politics_ , if that tells you anything. Nymphadora is managing.”

“Managing the dinner conversations about politics?” Astoria’s mother lightly jested.

“Oh, yes, that too,” Mrs Tonks nodded with matching solemn humour.

The tea was nearly gone before either of the ladies dared to say anything.

“Andromeda, I only wish that you were here under much more pleasant circumstances. Astoria, you will have to leave. No listening in,” Astoria’s mother warned.

“Let her stay, Estelle,” Mrs Tonks said before Astoria could even think to react. “She is a growing girl, and she is growing up in these times. She is entitled to know.”

Astoria’s mother paused and contemplated Mrs Tonks’s words before saying sternly, “Astoria, how much _do_ you know?”

Only then did Astoria realise who Mrs Tonks was and why she had showed up randomly on the twenty-sixth of December. This was what Mrs Malfoy had begged her mother to do –– to warn Mrs Tonks, her sister, about You-Know-Who. When Mrs Tonks faced Astoria again, the girl could see in the woman’s face that she had the same lips and cheekbones as Mrs Malfoy. This friend of Astoria’s mother’s was the estranged sister, the sister whom Mrs Malfoy saw in Astoria when she saw Daphne in herself. Mrs Tonks was the sister whom Mrs Malfoy could not admit regretting losing. Mrs Tonks was the sister the Death Eaters were after.

“Well, I know enough,” Astoria announced.

~

Astoria did not know how long her mother had spoken with Mrs Tonks. It felt like it had been hours, not including the time after Astoria quietly sneaked out of the room in distress. Mrs Ciel-Greengrass’s imploring did not succeed. Mrs Tonks made it clear that she would not, that she _could_ not, leave England with her family, as they intended to fight You-Know-Who as they had done before. That was not the answer Mrs Malfoy had wanted.

Astoria asked for a hug from Daphne that evening, and despite her apparent confusion, Daphne asked no questions about it.


	13. Cathexis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 13 - "Old Now" by Rosemary & Garlic

When Astoria and Rhiannon opened the door to their dormitory on the fourteenth of January, they released the sealed smell of Christmas biscuits. The memory of the delicious biscuits prompted Rhiannon to take out some of her sweet provisions and munch on them as she went about her unpacking. Clumsily trying to pull out her robes with one hand whilst the other held a small cake, Rhiannon groaned as a cloth bag rolled dramatically out of her suitcase and spilt several letters onto the floor.

“I got to write to Professor Lupin more over the break,” Rhiannon said, gloomily and happily at the same time.

Astoria squinted in the dim light. She saw the name Asenath on a couple of the letters that Rhiannon reached for next and assumed that it plagued the rest.

Astoria and Rhiannon had arrived at Hogwarts in time to go to dinner, that which could not be said of many of the other students. The Great Hall was definitely not empty, but all of the students present there that evening would not have reached half of the usual population. Due to the softer noise, the pair knew Professor Snape was striding toward them without even looking. He halted by their seats and stood there for a time in an affectedly stringent fashion, waiting for them to respectfully acknowledge his presence (or whatever it was he might have called it).

“Yes, Professor?” Astoria said.

“I am inclined to thank you for the new cauldron,” Professor Snape said slowly. “It is of very good quality.”

“You’re welcome,” both girls replied.

“Y’know, sir, there’s a whole story with that cauldron––” Rhiannon started.

“Don’t tell it,” Professor Snape said before walking away.

Flora and Hestia arrived at nightfall. The twins did not act out of the ordinary, so they must not have realised they had been spotted in Knockturn Alley. After thanking one another for Christmas gifts, enquiring about each other’s holidays, and lying quite a bit, the girls dispersed onto their beds to rest. Rhiannon then decided that she wasn’t going to pretend she did not see the twins in Knockturn Alley any longer, although Astoria much rather would have held her peace and saved the twins the effort of making up an excuse.

“You’ll never believe where Astoria and I got Snape’s gift,” Rhiannon said, faking a laugh.

“You got _Snape_ a gift?” Hestia said over Astoria’s groan.

“We did. And we had to go to Knockturn Alley to get it!”

The effect of the words on the twins was perceptible. They glanced at each other before assuming a charade.

“How did you make it out alive?” Flora said.

“Same way you did,” Rhiannon replied with a trace of aggression in her voice.

Hestia slowly drew her blankets up. Flora was motionless. Astoria wanted more than anything to escape to the common room and pretend that this moment had never occurred. It was Hestia, not Flora, who decided to break the stone silence.

“We weren’t doing anything wrong,” Hestia said to the ceiling. “Flora and I weren’t doing anything wrong.”

Astoria closed her eyes in a desperate defence mechanism.

“Our father––”

“Hestia…” Flora warned.

“Our father is a _coward_ , Flora! He won’t stand up to them!”

Astoria wished Rhiannon would interject, but relief did not come.

“ _Be qui––_!”

“I’m tired of keeping things from them. If _you_ want to pretend everything is okay, go on. Go on and do it and lie to your friends,” Hestia said.

Silence.

“By chance,” Hestia croaked, “the most questionable thing they bought that day was an old grimoire.”

Astoria could feel the combined confusion between Rhiannon and herself. Was it true that the Carrows bought contraband on a regular basis?

“Open your eyes,” Flora commanded Astoria.

“It is a good way to ruin Christmas shopping,” Hestia said pitifully, wiping a few tears with her blanket. “Going to Knockturn.”

“Okay, I’m lost,” Rhiannon said informally.

Hestia whimpered whilst Flora rubbed her temples.

“All right,” Flora whispered, begrudgingly accepting the task of telling the story, which was only Hestia’s goal. Speaking at a regular volume, she finally described the secrets of her family.

“Our father has two older siblings who both live with us. They’re parasites. They’ve been terrorising our parents since before we were born. Mum didn’t know what she was marrying into, and Dad wasn’t good enough of a man to tell her to leave him. She died when we were born, and that didn’t help Dad’s morale against the two. Dad’s never done anything himself, but we’ve pretty much figured out our aunt and uncle. It’s never talked about in our house, but they sometimes have Dad trade things so they aren’t always traceable. Do you follow me?”

Rhiannon nodded, and Astoria made a noise in her throat.

“An unspoken rule is that nobody talks about these two. Another unspoken rule is that the easiest way to keep quiet is to not leave the house unless they say so.”

Astoria felt so badly. Did it really have to be true? After hearing all about Rhiannon’s home life, did it really have to be true that the twins were held essentially captive in their own home?

“They don’t pay much attention to us because we aren’t useful. We are weak; they tell us all the time. They use our Dad,” Flora described.

“I would tell you more,” Hestia spoke up. “I would tell you everything, but we don’t know everything. Things are always kept from us. I-I think maybe it’s better that way, so they let us outside more. We don’t know anything except what we know from guessing, Rhiannon.”

After an awkward silence, Rhiannon said, “You don’t owe me an explanation, really. I guess we were just worried. It doesn’t change anything.”

Hestia and Flora both nodded. They might have been the “weird kids” in their class, but they weren’t bad people. Astoria was grateful to have them as friends; she only wished that she could do more to help. They obviously had a difficult upbringing. At least they could talk about it openly now.

The next day was eerily uneventful for the foursome. Astoria found that conversation was particularly hard to come by. Whilst other students were relating funny holiday stories to one another or announcing which gifts they received, Astoria, Rhiannon, Flora, and Hestia tried to fight off the shadows that had been cast upon them. Rhiannon didn’t show up for lunch that afternoon, and after scanning the Gryffindor table, Astoria concluded that she was probably with the also-absent Asenath.

“Where did she go?” Flora asked.

“I believe she is with my cousin,” Astoria said quietly.

Hestia accidentally gurgled with her tea, and the resulting fit of coughing annoyed every other surrounding student. The noise was outmatched by a quick announcement from Headmaster Dumbledore.

“All Astronomy classes are cancelled for tonight,” he said, with an aberrant discomfort tracing his voice.

The ignorant appreciation for the cancelled class was painfully widespread, but Astoria’s thoughts of hospitals would not stay away. When Rhiannon met up with Astoria later, it looked like she had just finished a long snogging session. Her flushed face quickly lost its colour when Astoria told her that Astronomy was cancelled for that night.

“I wish they’d tell us more,” Rhiannon said earnestly. “I want to know, if… if she’s all right. If maybe she just couldn’t get back from a holiday somewhere in time…”

“She is sick, Rhiannon,” Astoria said.

“Yeah… Guess I wished it was another reason.”

In double Charms, the girls watched the icy rain outside rather than the notes on the board. Rhiannon shivered and fell asleep multiple times throughout the day, but Astoria couldn’t convince her to see Madam Pomfrey. They both agreed to mope in the dormitory whilst Flora and Hestia worked on homework in the common room.

“What sorts of homework do you have already?” Rhiannon asked after the twins left.

“Not the kind I want to do,” Astoria said. “We just got back.”

Rhiannon’s lips flashed with a smile, then it was gone. She kicked off her shoes as Astoria unlaced hers. They sat in their beds. Rhiannon wrapped a blanket over her shoulders and scribbled in her spiral notebook. Astoria was a little sweaty and picked pilling off of her blanket instead.

“Weird day,” said Rhiannon.

“Yeah, it sort of is.”

They could hear the clock ticking.

“What are you working on, Rhi?”

“Doodling.”

Astoria glanced at the notebook. Rhiannon was drawing fake-looking sigils like the kind tattooed on Asenath. Astoria didn’t use the word _lame_ very much, but this was one instance where she thought it. Maybe it was the optical illusions in the tangled sigils, but Astoria grew a headache and lay down.

“Oh. We’re missing dinner. Wanna head up?” Rhiannon offered.

“Not particularly. Don’t we have some snacks stashed in here somewhere?”

“Yeah, let me…”

Rhiannon stopped mid-sentence. Astoria’s headache got worse, so she didn’t much care to hear the rest of Rhiannon’s chatter anyway. But then Rhiannon tried to pick up conversation again.

“Astoria, I actually wanted to ask you something. Erm, I get these deep pains sometimes at night.”

“I told you to go to Madam Pomfrey today,” Astoria said a bit impatiently. “I didn’t know about _that_ , though.”

She shut her eyes. She heard Rhiannon rummaging through the stash of food.

“We got Wizard-brand Twiglets,” Rhiannon said, implying the Muggle recipe for Wandlets was better.

“Could you save me a bag of Wandlets? My head hurts at the moment.”

“Yeah I’ll save it for later.”

Astoria made a noise in response. No matter how much she relaxed her body and kept her eyes shut, her head throbbed worse and worse. This was the kind of migraine she would have to sleep off, so she tried. No luck. Her thoughts were restless and vivid in colour. She kept worrying about Professor Sinistra, but she couldn’t remember what she was worried about any longer. She saw her long braids trailing down from her silken head wrap. The robes she wore used to be golds and oranges and magentas. Maroons and violets and indigos. She wore no colour anymore, and her lips were sick and grey.

The migraine was making Astoria see more colours even in the black behind her eyelids. Pinks dripped into blues, and greens flashed yellow. Red circles were everywhere. The colour of her own hair, a dark brown replaced the black. Her own eyes were muted green, muted and censored and dabbed with water. She had seen her eyes many times in the mirror. Once she had seen them face-to-face. Astoria rolled on her back and felt the bed as bricks. A memory she thought she had came unravelling. Something in her head was muddled and fake.

 _I knew I never told Professor Sinistra I was homesick_! _I never had that conversation_. _Why do I keep thinking that I did_?

Astoria recalled being very late to class one evening, after having fallen asleep in the music room. She thought she had talked to Professor Sinistra beforehand, but sometimes the memory seemed fake. Other times it seemed real. But she had not fallen asleep in the music room then, had she? And she wasn’t asleep now, though it felt like a dream.

 _Something chased me_. _It looked just like me_. _It had taken my shape_.

Astoria wiped her clammy hands on the pilled Hogwarts blankets. Astoria could see it all clearly now in her thoughts, having been chased and cornered in the music room.

 _It told me it wanted its home back. Why didn’t I tell anyone I saw this clone of myself chasing me_? _Was I put under a spell_?

She had asked the creature what it was, but its answer was “ _What the hell do you think I am?_ ”

 _I don’t know_. _I don’t know what you are_.

Down to the eyes, it was the same shape and colour as her. That thing had clutched her heartbeat and had fooled Professor Sinistra. A doppelgänger, a demon, a shapeshifter.

“Rhiannon?”

Rhiannon’s coughing rang against the stone walls. Rhiannon coughed out some affirmation of being okay. Astoria’s whole head spun out the dizziness. Rhiannon was slumped at the foot of Astoria’s bed, coughing. Okay, but coughing. Astoria crawled over to her.

“You started freaking out,” Rhiannon alleged. “I wanted to check on you. My head started hurting too.”

“My pain is gone,” Astoria said, wondering what wicked magic had stirred.

“My pain is gone, too, but…”

They locked eyes.

“…but what happened?”

~

The next morning was Astoria’s birthday. She and Rhiannon had not figured out what had happened the previous night. They were supposed to have History of Magic. Then Astoria would go to Arithmancy whilst Rhiannon would go to Care of Magical Creatures. They’d meet back up for Potions.

“I figure we can get checked out and be back in time for Potions,” Rhiannon said.

“I think so,” Astoria said.

She did not want to miss Arithmancy, but there had never been a better excuse to go to the Hospital Wing. She told Flora to vouch for her absence, whilst Rhiannon sent Hestia as her agent. They pretended they had eaten something that both made them sick, blaming the Wandlets.

The draughts in the dungeons were more powerful than usual, as if they were trying to sweep the students back into their warm common room. Working their way up the stairs and through the corridors, Rhiannon and Astoria finally made it to the Hospital Wing. It wasn’t going to be an easy task to get admitted; both of them felt completely fine _now_.

When they walked into the Hospital Wing, it was abuzz. This was out of the ordinary from the quietude Madam Pomfrey worked so hard to ensure. Astoria and Rhiannon waited patiently at the front desk whilst the matron talked to some patients a little frantically. The girls shared a look. Astoria noticed that the matron’s check-in station was littered with mail. If Astoria had to guess, most of it was from students’ parents. There were only three students in the beds, so each student must have had about five letters! What could be so urgent about their conditions? By chance, Astoria noticed the newspaper underneath all of the letters. The main headline of the _Daily Prophet_ this was more than concerning.

**MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN**

**MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS “RALLYING POINT”**

**FOR OLD DEATH EATERS**

“Er, Rhiannon…” Astoria whispered, drawing her attention to the paper.

Rhiannon immediately took the liberty to grab the paper right off of Madam Pomfrey’s desk.

Whilst the matron was still distracted with upset children, Astoria and Rhiannon gobbled up as much as the article as they could. It detailed:-

> The Ministry of Magic has announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban.
> 
> Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening, and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals.
> 
> “We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped,” said Fudge last night. “Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it is likely that these individuals, who include Black’s cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals and beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached.”

“No shit they shouldn’t be approached!” Rhiannon gasped. “And for the record, Sirius Black was _not_ the first person to escape from Azkaban, but I guess they’re going to cover that up, too.”

“Cover what up?” Astoria whispered.

“There was a breakout in ’82, but it was just one person. Now there’s ten more, look at that,” Rhiannon said frustratedly.

“I’ll be with you ladies in a minute,” Madam Promfrey called over.

With little time before they would be caught with the witch’s newspaper, Rhiannon scrutinised each mug shot and respective name, whispering them as she went along.

“Antonin Dolohov, Tilton Gibbon, Patrick Jugson –– and this wonderful family, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, –– Xavier Lofthouse; yes, that’s Xander’s father… Bates Mulciber, Augustus Rookwood, and Wilhelm Travers.”

Astoria and Rhiannon casually lay the newspaper back on the desk, both peering at it to read the next passage:-

> “The Azkaban breakout was the result of revolt on the part of a small number of dementors guarding the prison and its grounds. The prison is known to have ten dementor guards for every one human guard. The wizards and witches who make up the Azkaban Security Officials (ASO) were unavailable for questioning following the breakout, but the official statement issued by the ASO is as follows:
> 
> “‘Breakout occurred at approximately 6:30 P.M. Ten (10) escaped. Escape made possible by large, Reducted hole, which opened up walls on the south side of the twentieth through the twenty-third floors. Blast created by Rabastan Lestrange after he and other nine were freed from cells by three (3) dementors. Forces working to retrieve prisoners. None found yet. Two brain-deaths of prisoners from twenty-third floor confirmed as a result from dementors. Three deaths in prison hospice ward resulted from Reducto Curse. One other death from hospice ward occurred separately, about twenty minutes before breakout. One outside witness of breakout was seriously injured but discharged from St Mungo’s upon request.’ [ _Continued on next page_ ].”

“Good morning, Miss Greengrass, Miss Clarke,” Madam Pomfrey said in her best customer-service voice. “What seems to be the problem?”

Astoria realised they had not agreed on what to tell Madam Pomfrey without sounding loony. For some reason, telling the absolute truth had not occurred to her, so she was surprised when Rhiannon went ahead and said it.

“Last night, Astoria and I both got really woozy at the same exact time. We were in our dorm room, and I saw Astoria tense up. And so I went to check on her, but I lost my balance. We got really sick for no reason. I was wondering if there was a spell put on us.”

“Oh, I can examine you. About what time did this happen?” the matron asked.

Rhiannon furrowed her brow and said quietly, “About six.”

The matron sort of glared at them.

“Why didn’t you come up when it happened? You wanted to miss class this morning?”

Astoria offered, “Well, we felt better afterwards, as though something had passed over us. We’re pretty sure it was magic, since I saw visions. We don’t know who would do this.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Unwell,” Astoria lied.

“What do you mean by visions?”

“I had a vision that I was being chased by myself,” Astoria said. “I think I was Confunded.”

It was partially true. It had come to her as a vision last evening. But it had been a real event. She really had been chased. Madam Pomfrey didn’t need to know that part.

“What about you, Miss Clarke?”

“I dunno. It felt like something switched off in me.”

“‘Switched off?’” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“Yeah, magic-like. Like a spell broke.”

Madam Pomfrey gave them both a hard look, but ultimately drew up an admission record for each of them and showed them to a bed. It might have been the doom and gloom of prison breakout that was causing her to take their baseless claims so seriously. They were put in adjacent beds, but Astoria was next to a sixth-year with a lot of noise coming from his stomach. There was plenty of room in the wing. It wasn’t really fair.

“Astoria, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“No?”

“We got sick about the same time as the breakout,” Rhiannon hissed excitedly.

“Oh…”

Astoria wished that it was anything else. Maybe they were making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe their blood sugar had got low.

 _I know what I saw, though_ , Astoria thought.

She grabbed the pillow and hugged it tight. Was You-Know-Who capable of shapeshifting? Headmaster Dumbledore said he came back to life last year. Did he get into the school? Did he come after Astoria? Was he running around with her image?

No, dark wizards probably had better things to do.

“Astoria, see if he’ll lend you his copy of the _Prophet_ ,” Rhiannon said.

Astoria’s hesitation at the threat of catching the sixth-year’s stomach bug gave Madam Pomfrey just enough time to get her bearing together and come back to them. She started with Rhiannon (who had been in the Hospital Wing several times before), taking her pulse, checking under her tongue, shining a wandlight in her eyes, and looking in her ears.

“All right, Miss Clarke, this is going to feel odd,” said the Matron, with her wand right on Rhiannon’s forehead.

“Aye.”

“ _Specialis Revelio_.”

Nothing happened.

“Miss Greengrass?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“ _Specialis Revelio_.”

Astoria jerked a little at the spell, since it felt like Madam Pomfrey had rung a loud doorbell against her forehead. Still, nothing happened with her, either.

“Well, there’s no magic in either of you anymore. I do want to figure out what happened, though. Do you mind if I send for your Head of House? If there are jinxes and the like being cast in the dormitories, he’ll need to know. You can tell him what happened.”

Rhiannon agreed straightaway. Astoria wasn’t so sure she wanted to tell Professor Snape that she had such a terrible, vivid memory. Telling Madam Pomfrey had been enough. However, if she was really in danger, she had to let someone know.

Madam Pomfrey went back to her office. There was no telling when or if Professor Snape would arrive to interrogate them. Rhiannon once again asked Astoria to get the sick fellow’s paper.

“Erm, excuse me…”

The sixth-year burped in response.

“Do you mind if we borrow your newspaper? We’ll give it back.”

He burped again. Astoria tried to use context clues, and it seemed like he was burping in agreement. She took the paper off his bedside table, and she and Rhiannon huddled up to read it on Astoria’s bed. They found the spot where they had left off.

> **“WITNESS RECOUNTS BREAKOUT**
> 
> “Aurora Sinistra, 33, Professor of Astronomy at Hogwarts School, insisted on speaking with reporters from her hospital bed late on the night of the fifteenth of January. She said that she had been in the hospice ward that day and showed reporters her Azkaban right-of-entry card, the likes of which few had ever seen before. Her classes at Hogwarts begin at eight o’clock. She intended to stay until seven that evening visiting a relative in hospice. However, ten minutes after six o’clock, the prisoner she was visiting passed away, and she attempted to send for a prison officer.”
> 
> Astoria was startled. Professor Sinistra was the _last_ person she expected to be the witness to the breakout, except perhaps Daphne. Astoria had no idea Professor Sinistra knew anyone in Azkaban. She kept looking at Rhiannon, waiting for her to react, but Rhiannon’s nose was set in the paper. She was reading way ahead of Astoria. So Astoria kept quiet and continued reading to keep up.
> 
> “Any human officers, Sinistra said, could not be reached. It was after she saw how the dementors were acting that she realised that the prison was unstable. Three dementors were confirmed to be defective by the Ministry after the event.
> 
> “It was later confirmed that two of the defective dementors had unlawfully Kissed two prisoners on the twenty-third floor, of which Ms Sinistra was not a witness. She remained in the hospice ward and was able to place Shield Charms round the area, but she could cast a Patronus Charm.
> 
> “‘The dementors were wild, and I could not contact the front guardswizards. I didn’t leave my spot. The Death Eaters came for me, though, because they knew I was there,’ she said.
> 
> “When asked how the Death Eaters knew she was there, she reported that Rabastan Lestrange knew her when they were in school. She knew that a breakout had occurred when she saw Rabastan, who destroyed her Shield Charm and placed her under the Cruciatus Curse for one half of a minute.
> 
> “‘I was ready for something like that,” said Ms Sinistra. “He ceased the curse by chance when four others arrived from another cell. I got away, but they followed me. Five escaped through a blast in the wall that Rabastan had aimed at me. I don’t know exactly which five. One smacked me on the head as he left, and I could not see for a few moments.’
> 
> “Asked how the prisoners were able to retrieve their wands, Ms Sinistra said that she was not certain, but that many wands were kept with the ASO, who were not present during the initial stages of the breakout. This is interesting information, considering that wands of inmates are supposed to be kept in Auror archives.
> 
> “Duelling had ensued on the twentieth floor of the prison, in which Ms Sinistra faced Rabastan and four other Death Eaters.
> 
> “‘At least thirty spells were cast,’ she estimated. The dust from the blast in the stone was clouding everything. Perhaps that is why I’m alive. I was able to subdue one of them and ran down to the nineteenth floor. One caught me and dragged me back to the floor above, back to the rest of them. I did not see a wand on him during this time. I struggled out of that situation and then subdued him easily, but when I battled the other three, somebody broke my left arm. I was sure I would die then.’
> 
> “Ms Sinistra said that the others must have escaped during this duel, for she did not fight nor see them.
> 
> “‘I can’t aim with my right hand, so I was trying to out-run the last three, but Rabastan cornered me.’
> 
> “Ms Sinistra then related how she survived. Her left arm broken, she cast an Atmospheric Charm, which required no aim.
> 
> “‘It was a wind charm,’ she said. ‘It knocked out two of them straight away. Rabastan knew what I was doing and escaped the prison. I saw him going. He’s the one missing his left ear from our first fight on the twentieth floor.’
> 
> “It was officially confirmed by the ASO that Ms Sinistra had prevented the escape of four Death Eaters: Graham Bohr, Cain Calhoun, Valfrid Lofthouse, and Thorfinn Rowle.
> 
> “The public is implored to give any information regarding the locations of the escaped Death Eaters to the Ministry of Magic immediately. Under no circumstances should anyone make contact with the escapees.”

Astoria had hundreds of questions. Who was the professor visiting? Why was Professor Sinistra willing to be so close to dementors for a prisoner? It must have been someone very close, like a parent or sibling. And now the one for whom the professor cared so much was gone. But Professor Sinistra had already been sick… how could she have withstood the effects of being near dementors? It was cruel.

“Who do you think she was visiting all this time?” Astoria whispered, even though the more important question was, “Do you think she’s okay?”

Rhiannon glared at the floor.

“Haven’t a clue,” she said hoarsely. She was extremely pale. She began to shed tears profusely and say that she could not go to Potions even if it meant detention until June. She buried her head on Astoria’s shoulder and was refusing to liberate any of the vocal cries in her throat, but Astoria could feel her heartbreakingly laboured breathing through the hug. The other students were staring at them. They would just have to keep staring.

“Astoria, you need to tell me what you saw in your vision,” Rhiannon said after she had got herself together.

Astoria hesitated, but Rhiannon looked to be on to something. She cupped her hand over Rhiannon’s ear and came completely clean.

“I saw a memory that I didn’t know I had. It was last year. I was going up Astronomy Tower and thought I might talk to Professor Sinistra, but she was already talking to a girl. I waited on the steps, but the girl was saying all these _really_ specific things about missing home and feeling like she doesn’t do anything right. It was like she was saying my own thoughts. And then Professor Sinistra said something about if she went back to being home-schooled, she wouldn’t have _you_. And then the girl got upset and came out of the room. And I was already trying to get away from her, but she followed me. I saw that she _was_ me. I was seeing a double of myself. I locked myself in the Music room. You all had already left from practice. The girl sat outside and cried. Then it was quiet for so long, I thought I had imagined the whole thing. So I opened the door, and there she was, crying. I looked right at her. She was identical to me. And she put her wand in my face. I think she Confunded me. This whole time, I thought I was late to class because I had taken a walk. I was late to class because I was Confunded and then put to sleep.”

Rhiannon looked less shocked and disturbed than Astoria thought she ought to have. Astoria couldn’t fathom why it all made sense to Rhiannon and made zero sense to her.

“Was this some sort of prank?” Astoria suddenly accused.

“Prank? God, no!” Rhiannon exclaimed.

“Well, then what is so obvious about what happened to me?” Astoria pressed.

“Astoria, someone had a Polyjuice Potion round here last year! Someone must have got some of your hair and made a potion –– you run your hands through your hair every two minutes.”

“Polyjuice! But that doesn’t explain how that thing read my mind!”

“It wasn’t a _thing_ , Astoria, it was person! You know, some people can use magic to read minds, too! Don’t you read anything but Astronomy?” Rhiannon huffed.

“I’m not allowed to read about Dark magic apart from class,” Astoria admitted resentfully. “How do you even know there was Polyjuice at the school?”

Rhiannon paused, then pulled something out of thin air, “Moody told me.”

“ _Moody_?”

“Yeah, I thought he was just being his usual paranoid self until you told me about that girl who looked exactly like you,” Rhiannon said.

Astoria couldn’t “read minds,” but oh, could she tell when Rhiannon was making shit up. Polyjuice was certainly a more comforting explanation than a shapeshifting demon, but who would use Polyjuice _and_ read her mind just to go cry all over Professor Sinistra pretending to be her? She thought Rhiannon would come up with another fib, but she asked anyway.

“I don’t know who it could have been. Sounds like something Malfoy would do. And come to think of it, Malfoy wouldn’t even _have_ to read your mind. He already knows all that stuff about you because it’s obvious you’re homesick and don’t like Charms,” Rhiannon answered.

“ _Malfoy_? Rhiannon, are you serious?”

“Yeah, Malfoy! Probably just to be a pervert,” Rhiannon fake-sulked.

Astoria was flabbergasted. Rhiannon had made more sense of the situation than Astoria had been able to do in a year, and yet Rhiannon’s answer did not feel honest. She was about to pressure her for more of what she thought of the event when Professor Snape barged in. Astoria and Rhiannon both took their place on their beds and pretended to be good patients. If Rhiannon wouldn’t help Astoria get to the bottom of this, she might as well turn to Snape. All she had to say was, “Someone has my hair and is making Polyjuice, Professor.” That would be all she had to say. It was right on the tip of her tongue. She was ready.

And then Professor Snape darted past both of them as though they weren’t even there.

“Why on Earth is she here? She should be in St Mungo’s! _Poppy_!” he hollered.

Madam Pomfrey (and everyone else) had heard his arrival and came bustling after him.

“Severus, she was discharged from St Mungo’s because she kept insisting she leave. She was in decent condition at the time of that discharge, but the Headmaster brought her here when he saw her. I assessed her. Her physical condition is much better, but Severus… _Severus_ , _wait._ She’s catatonic.”

Astoria and Rhiannon watched open-mouthed as Professor Snape whirled back round to glare at Madam Pomfrey before he walked all the way to the back of the ward and drew back the curtains on a private bed. Professor Sinistra had been in the room the whole time, and the girls didn’t know! They leaned way forward to see past Snape’s cape. Professor Sinistra looked more terrible than ever before. It troubled Astoria that her arm was still in a sling; broken bones like the one she reported in her eyewitness account could easily be repaired by Healers unless the injured party had been badly cursed. The Professor was lying down, but her position looked unnatural and uncomfortable. Her hand was held upright as if reaching for something. Her eyes were stony. She was mouthing something, but no sound was coming out. Astoria and Rhiannon were no longer the only ones staring.

“What fluid is she on?” Professor Snape demanded, eyeing the intravenous injection in her uninjured arm.

“The Euphoria Elixir. Severus, she’s had direct contact with dementors.”

“I understand that, but why have you Silenced her?”

“Severus, stop questioning me. She’s chanting nonsense.”

“And what if she needed help? You would not hear her.”

“She isn’t going to need help, yet, Severus. I need to get her out of this state first! Do you think I have not been monitoring her all morning? Go on, then, and Unsilence her. You’ll last about one minute listening to that. You know damn well what she’s talking about.”

Madam Pomfrey’s justifications were not good enough for Professor Snape. All of a sudden, the girls could hear the sound of Professor Sinistra gasp. She was crying the incantation for a Patronus Charm.

“ _Expecto Patronum_. _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Professor Sinistra repeated tonelessly. She did not even hold a wand and could hardly be expected to cast a Patronus in her state.

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” rang uselessly yet again, but Professor Sinistra was entirely separated from the fact that she held no wand, that she was in the Hospital Wing without a dementor in sight.

“ _Expecto Patronum_.”

Rhiannon got out of bed and walked over to Professor Sinistra. She was instantly shoved away from the area by Madam Pomfrey. Astoria felt like her whole body was shrinking and closing in as she watched her favourite teacher lie in pieces. Rhiannon stumbled back to Astoria after a decisive push from the matron.

“Rhi, what’s going on?” Astoria whimpered, grabbing her friend’s sleeve and tugging on it pathetically like a child in need of attention.

Rhiannon did not make eye-contact but began to render her thoughts into words for Astoria’s sake:–

“Contact with dementors brings up your worst memories,” Rhiannon said.

“ _Expecto Patronum_. Professor, help me. Make it stop. _Make it stop_ ,” Professor Sinistra uttered senselessly. Astoria saw her eyes turn in sheer desperation toward the ceiling as though the whole situation was real and no one was responding to it, not even the Heavens.

“So she’s remembering being attacked last night?” Astoria finally gathered.

In an entirely arcane revelation, Rhiannon grabbed Astoria’s arm and held it tightly with a shaking hand.

“No,” Rhiannon said, breaking into tears. “I’ll be damned.”

“ _Expecto Patronum_. Minerva, cast one. _Expecto Patronum_. Help me, Minerva –– _no_. _Expecto Patronum_! No, no, no, no, no. _Expecto Pa––_ ”

“ _Silencio_ ,” Professor Snape said solemnly, brushing Professor Sinistra’s hair from her face.

Madam Pomfrey was relieved at Professor Snape’s words. An event which had lasted no more than three minutes felt like it had taken up the entire day. Rhiannon was still standing even though she had been forbidden to get closer. She met Professor Snape toe-to-toe in the walkway.

“Miss Clarke,” he said. “Miss Greengrass. Neither of you have anything to worry about. The magic that was in you is gone for good.”

Astoria tried to get up the courage to ask for clarity… Her body had been _copied_ with Polyjuice for Merlin’s sake… But Professor Snape had walked away with the kind of walk that meant he wasn’t taking further questions. And that also meant they had to show up for his class.

Right after D.A.D.A., their last class the girls went back to the Hospital Wing to check on Professor Sinistra again. It had been all they thought about all day. Madam Pomfrey finally allowed visitors, which was a great sign. Professor Sinistra was lying on her right side and had evidently halted a significant conversation with Professor Snape, who had Transfigured the bed that was usually in the adjacent spot into a writing desk. With a quick sweep of his wand, he rolled up at least ten documents from the Ministry which had been spread across the desk.

“You ought,” he said choppily to the traumatised professor, “to have waited a bit longer for visitors.”

“I would never send away these girls,” she replied in her usual voice. “Anyway, I do not have to worry about other visitors. They are all wary of me now, surely.”

“Surely,” Professor Snape repeated with a smack of his thin lips.

“Professor,” Astoria gently said to the weakened teacher, “Do you feel any better at all since this morning? We, er, we were here…”

“How kind you both are,” the professor responded. “I’m much better now. Oh, I shouldn’t have tried to back to Hogwarts so soon. It’s my own fault. By the way, Astoria, happy birthday to you.”

Astoria had no clue Professor Sinistra paid attention to something like her birthday.

“Thank you, Professor…” Astoria said earnestly.

“What you did,” Rhiannon started shakily, “was so honourable, a-and that paper just didn’t own up to you like it shoulda.”

“I thought it painted me quite well, actually,” Professor Sinistra said. “That is the nicest article about me they have ever published.”

Rhiannon became very affected and withdrew from the conversation to wipe her eyes.

“Do you know, Severus,” the wounded witch emphasised, “that for nearly three months, these ladies have been under the impression that I have cancer?”

Astoria failed to draw in enough air. Did that mean that the professor _did_ or _did not_ have cancer? And how did she know that they thought that?

“I see,” Professor Snape replied without a hint of surprise in his voice.

His hands gnarled round a roll of parchment he was so impatiently waiting to reopen.

“I must assure you now that I don’t have any such thing,” Professor Sinistra said with noted energy.

 _Oh_ , _the relief_.

“It was nothing more than the dementor. I was in close quarters with a dementor.”

Nothing more than a dementor? What an understatement! Here, the professor had been subjected to the parasites for who knows how long, and she was able to say “nothing more.” The woman’s will must have been entirely unmatched to endure such a burden for the simple sake of visiting a convicted patient dying in hospice care.

“It will,” the professor continued with a small cough, “no longer be so.”

There was a pause. Rhiannon stared at her feet, but Astoria watched Professor Sinistra’s eyelids lower. Astoria’s sympathy for the professor overwhelmed her. She had to show the witch who had always been her home away from home how much she cared.

“To think that they had _dementors_ guarding the hospice ward,” Astoria said boldly. “No Healers –– just the opposite of Healers! Professor Sinistra, your interview has exposed such a horrible transgression, and I know you have done much more in addition to preventing the escape of four Death Eaters.”

“I –– well, thank you, Astoria,” the professor said. “But you must know, dear, that there… there is not much to guard in the Azkaban hospice ward… it’s… erm…”

Rhiannon shut her eyes. Astoria remembered that it had been disrespectful to close her eyes when the twins were confiding to her, and she refused to abandon the current matter. Something about Professor Sinistra’s manner indicated that she wanted to talk about the wrongdoing.

“They should not have dementors in the building in any case,” Astoria said. “Rhiannon read a dementorology book earlier this year, and it’s quite obvious that anyone on that island must undergo great mental torture. It’s cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Oh,” the professor said grimly as she nodded her head with effort. “You can’t imagine the effect on the mind. I wish––”

“It is over now, Aurora. We have paperwork,” Professor Snape stepped in, and Astoria and Rhiannon inferred that so was their visit.

“That’s right… it is all over. Oh, I have to write to Remus…” trailed Professor Sinistra.

Astoria tried to make sense of all that she had recently discovered. If “it” –– whatever _it_ was –– was really over as Professor Snape had said, and Professor Sinistra did not have cancer, then Astoria would have nothing to be concerned about. But her mind was still preyed upon by the fact that for more than four months, Professor Sinistra had looked like a dying woman. She had been visiting a dying person at the cost of exposing herself to dementors every single day. Why was her relative in Azkaban? If the professor had classes with Rabastan Lestrange in her Hogwarts days, one could only guess she knew other people of questionable origins. Yet the professor herself hated the Lestranges. She was not a prejudiced woman. Maybe her relatives were the same as Flora’s and Hestia’s. Bad people. It was a very similar situation.

The fact that the prisoner was kept in that joke of a hospice ward in Azkaban rather than sent elsewhere was more than disturbing. Professor Sinistra said herself that there was not much to guard in the hospice ward… so what kind of a prisoner would have been kept there nonetheless? What crime had that person done? There were still so many questions, and Rhiannon was hardly cooperating with answers.

Because there were no announcements that class had been cancelled, everyone trudged up the tower for Astronomy that same night. Astoria watched Draco Malfoy’s every move.

 _He didn’t do it_. _I know he didn’t do it_.

She watched Pansy.

 _Maybe Pansy had used Polyjuice_ _to run all over the place embarrassing me. That’s more likely._

Astoria watched Pansy some more.

 _Pansy’s too dumb_ _to make a potion like that_.

There was no other explanation that Astoria wanted to consider at the moment. She knew it wasn’t Draco. Rhiannon was lying to her.

 _It must have been Pansy. I hope it was Pansy_. _If Flora and Hestia can go to Knockturn Alley, Pansy certainly can. I bet she bought a pre-made Polyjuice potion. I bet she went everywhere crying all over the teachers to embarrass me_.

When Astoria reached the classroom and saw Professor Sinistra sitting determinedly at her desk, she gasped. She had assumed there would be a substitute teacher.

“Professor‽ Why aren’t you in the hospital wing?” she asked.

Professor Sinistra sighed placidly.

“If you have not guessed by now, Astoria, I am a little bit stronger than that.”


	14. Detachment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: Contains sensual content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 14 - "36 Degrees" by Placebo

“Asenath Greengrass!” Hestia exclaimed at breakfast Wednesday morning. “You’re really _going steady_ with Asenath Greengrass‽”

“You seem surprised that I am,” Rhiannon said smoothly.

“I can assure you that she is only shocked at the fact that Asenath is actually going steady with someone,” Astoria inserted. “As am I.”

“I don’t need your input,” Rhiannon shot, exactly as Astoria expected her to.

“See, even _Astoria_ knows about that Asenath!” Hestia stated.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean, ‘even Astoria?’” Astoria questioned.

“I mean you haven’t been at school this whole time to see Asenath in action, and you aren’t into women, and yet you still know that your cousin’s a floozy!”

“You better watch your mouth, Hestia,” threatened Rhiannon.

“I think you’d better watch _yourself_! If you keep going for people like that, you’re bound to end up with… with a vampiress! Or with a Muggle hippie!”

“Well!” Rhiannon said over Hestia. “Now that I made sure that all my friends’ll hate me for it, I’ll be going to sit with Asenath right now.”

“Yeah, have fun at the _Gryffindor_ table, Rhi,” Hestia simmered.

Rhiannon left. Astoria stirred her cereal and noted that the other students had made a communal effort to gradually scoot away from her group. They hadn’t talked about Professor Sinistra, or the Polyjuice Potion, or the Azkaban breakout at all after Astoria had gone to Astronomy the previous night. Rhiannon had apparently been on a little date with Asenath whilst Astoria sat helplessly in class. Things evidently had worked out on their date, since they were really coupling up.

Everything felt surreal. Astoria was sitting in the Great Hall –– that much she could accept –– but as soon as she thought about detail, her mind could only crawl. She was not eating with her best friend. Why not? As it turned out, Rhiannon had never fancied Draco and had instead had feelings for Astoria. As a rebound method, or perhaps out of sheer stupidity, Rhiannon was dating Asenath, whose track record of dumping people and breaking hearts would make even a sailor uncomfortable. So who was Astoria sitting with? Flora and Hestia, of course. They were her friends. They were her roommates. They were even in the band with her. They were also the nieces of Death Eaters.

As unfortunate as it was, Astoria was in a House that had many relatives of Death Eaters. She knew it, but for some reason, the matter had not seemed very relevant to her life until it got this close to her. Yes, Draco’s father was a Death Eater, and Draco always seemed to be around, but did Astoria know how that affected Draco? Not really. It did not seem to be a significant factor whenever she talked to him, perhaps because Lucius was living under the charade that he was never a willing Death Eater at all. However, so much of what the twins had said –– or had not said –– indicated that it was something that affected their social lives, their home life, and even their relationship with each other. Astoria was not intimidated by Flora or Hestia in any way; rather, she was upset because she did not know how to comfort them. Would they want to talk about it? Would at least one of them want to talk about it? Would Astoria be expected to respond when there wasn’t really anything she could say? She was powerless to actually help them. What was the point of informing somebody of suspected Death Eaters if Death Eaters could get out of Azkaban anyway? That breakout was another problem as well, but with a much simpler train of thought: “We’re all going to die.”

One would have thought that some sort of an address would have been given to the students regarding the prison breakout, but it was not so. The only indications that it had happened at all were the anxious looks on everyone’s face and the sling that was still on Professor Sinistra’s arm. Doubtlessly, this was due to the fact that Umbridge had issued yet another decree that morning, forbidding the staff to speak with students about anything other than class material. Furthermore, far fewer letters were coming in as the woman became stricter about her owl frisking. It seemed that hardly any students received letters from home after she had upped her frisking.

That was when Astoria’s mind wandered to the subject of Philippe. Astoria had lost his romance, had lost his delightful letters, and had even lost him visually, for he had returned to France. It was not like he was hers for a long time; in fact, he was never truly hers at all, but she considered him something of a bad ear piercing hole that was trying to heal on its own and doing so in an unsightly manner. Not to mention how much it hurt.

“I’m not exactly astonished by the fact that you two seem to be more upset over relationships than you are over the Lestranges’ being at large,” Flora said as she rustled through her morning paper.

“W-What?” Astoria said as she came out of her daze to find her cereal extremely soggy.

“Well, I know Philippe broke up with you. But we saw that coming,” Flora said inconsiderately.

“Excuse me!”

“Well, it’s all on your face.”

“I’d actually _like_ to hear about that banquet,” Hestia interrupted. “When we left school, you liked Philippe, and Rhiannon liked you. Now Philippe isn’t even mentioned, and Rhi’s with your cousin. And would you believe Tracey Nettlebed’s spreading rumours about you and Malfoy spending the whole time together? _That_ ’ _s_ a story I need to hear.”

“How did _you_ know Rhiannon liked me?” Astoria asked fervently.

“It was obvious,” was the only thing Hestia would say in response.

Grumpily accepting the fact that her words had generated a discussion, Flora sighed, “Come on, Astoria, she wrote lyrics about you all the time.”

Astoria grumbled. Nothing had clicked in her head that any of Rhiannon’s songs had been directed at her.

“Anyway,” Hestia said, “Tell us about what happened later.”

For all of the questions Astoria had refrained from asking Flora and Hestia about their family, they certainly were not returning the favour. Nevertheless, Astoria conceded, and by five o’clock, the twins knew the general series of events that had occurred over the Christmas holiday. Hestia then advised Astoria to save all of her letters from Philippe so that she would have solid evidence that he was a sneak –– it was good advice, considering the fact that Astoria thought she might burn them all when she went back home that summer.

Draco showed up late to Astronomy that night on account of his snogging Parkinson before class (his rumpled uniform gave it away). In their names, a very specific seventeen points were taken from Slytherin –– the extra two points due to their being Prefects, Professor Sinistra said. Even despite that, for someone who had recently snogged his girlfriend, Draco looked greatly dejected. “Are you all right?” seemed like an inappropriate question, for who _could_ be all right when there were ten infamous Death Eaters on the loose?

Parkinson, who had already transgressed and was evidently unaware of her upcoming faux pas, asked, “Professor Sinistra, I was wondering –– how did you get a right-of-entry card at Azkaban? I read it in the paper.”

Chairs could be heard squeaking against the floor as the students’ heads turned to look at Parkinson. Next to her, Blaise Zabini was entirely indifferent, but Millicent Bulstrode put her head down exasperatedly. Astoria looked back at Draco, who was simply staring at his blank parchment.

Even though it felt like the students could have asked Professor Sinistra a stream of questions, that particular question would not have been very high on anyone’s list. Clearly, they gave entry cards to relatives of prisoners. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Who cared about something like the right-of-entry card when they were eager to hear the surnames of the convicts Professor Sinistra must have seen so they could gossip about who in the House was related to whom? Who even thought about the right-of-entry card when they all wanted to hear the exciting details of the battle which the professor single-handedly fought against the Death Eaters?

“I think you must have forgotten about Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six,” Professor Sinistra said quietly.

There was a collective moan from the curious students.

“A decree,” the professor muttered as she made the notes appear on the board, “which was issued to keep me quiet about it all.”

Astoria nearly elbowed the motionless young man next to her as she moved to get another glance at Parkinson. Parkinson looked like she had not even heard the professor and was still sitting there with her lips parted, waiting for an answer that wasn’t going to come.

Draco wasn’t keeping up with the notes. Each time Professor Sinistra changed the words on the board, he simply ended the fragments where they were and continued as if he did not even notice they were incomplete. Being so close to the front, almost everything Astoria said would be heard by the professor, so she decided to write her concerns.

 _I_ ’ _ll let you borrow my notes later if you tell me why you_ ’ _re upset_ , she scratched next to her notes. She had to make quite the effort to bring Draco’s attention to it, after which he put on an air of confusion as though he had merely been spaced out. Astoria knew better, though, for Draco wasn’t one to space out, and he was drumming his fingers as they lay next to his quill unproductively.

 _Is she really that bad of a kisser_? Astoria wrote.

“Ha!” Draco laughed once his eyes focused on the words. The class then looked at him, but Professor Sinistra paid no attention.

 _No_ , Draco wrote under the question. Astoria didn’t want to see that answer but was glad he was cooperating.

 _Then what_ ’ _s wrong_? she asked out of necessity when he didn’t continue writing. He looked at the question and looked away, thinking.

 _The breakout_ , he finally scrawled.

Astoria had almost expected a better answer.

 _Me too_. _I_ ’ _d like to know what idiot was in charge that day_ , she wrote quickly.

 _How can you give me your notes if you aren_ ’ _t taking them now_? Draco wrote, and Astoria could hear his sarcastic voice saying the words in her head.

 _Only trying to help_ , she scribbled. _Can we talk after class_?

Draco stared at the request suspiciously.

 _I guess_.

Astoria refocused on class. Of all the people to try to talk to about her problems, she had picked Draco. Really, she should have asked to talk to Professor Sinistra, since Astoria knew she came into contact with the Polyjuice Potion user. However, having seen Professor Sinistra so drained and traumatised made Astoria want to leave her alone, especially about something so creepy. A little bit before class would let out, Draco wrote another note on the parchment.

_I’ll be with Pansy after class. When exactly did you want to talk?_

After class was going to be eleven-thirty, and after midnight by the time they got to the dungeons! Plus, both she and Draco had first period classes in the morning. Astoria flushed in frustration and embarrassment. Go on and be with Pansy after class, then. Rhiannon was probably with Asenath. No one’s getting any sleep.

 _Yuck. When is your free period tomorrow_? Astoria found herself writing.

Why was she trying so hard? Why was she expecting him to help her the way he did at Christmas? This was getting stupid. She already regretted asking. She had no idea how to tell Draco Malfoy what she saw.

 _Fourth_ , he wrote.

 _Mine too_ , she wrote back.

_That works._

No it doesn’t! No it doesn’t! This is Draco Malfoy for crying out loud! Astoria needed to get it together and figure out a good time to talk to Rhiannon again, or Professor Sinistra, or even maybe Snape… not take her concerns to Malfoy! With all of this running through her head, it was going to be a long day tomorrow.

~

Any time of day would have been too early to receive a letter from Mr Mongaby, but receiving it at the stroke of eight in the morning was a truly unsurpassed bother. Hestia grabbed the letter before the other three girls even accepted the fact that it was there at all, and she paraphrased it considerably by saying, “What? We’re having a concert at Hogsmeade on the twenty-third of February!”

“Blimey,” Rhiannon said with more irritation than enthusiasm.

“Look at what the old sod put in here!” Hestia said, as she removed a smaller slip of parchment from the letter and passed it around. It was a line-up of the songs they were to perform at their concert. Astoria wondered exactly why Hestia was so angry, for every song that was on the album appeared in the schedule anyway.

“What’s wrong with it?” Astoria asked as she gave it to Flora.

“He put the songs in order for us!” Hestia complained fussily.

“Looks like we have to perform a cover of a popular song,” Flora said.

“Do we now?” Rhiannon said, gaining some interest in the matter. “Do you s’pose he’ll let us play Muggle songs?”

“I don’t think that’s the definition of ‘popular,’ Rhiannon,” Flora responded.

“Who cares? Let’s do it,” Hestia said. “What do you have in mind, Rhi?”

“‘Another Brick in the Wall’ by Pink Floyd. Got three or so parts to it, but we can cut out some of the 1970s-style strumming excursions. I thought it’d be somethin’ people would relate to about now since the best line’s, ‘Teacher, leave them kids alone.’”

“That’s a beautiful reference to Umbridge,” Astoria said.

“Right. And I don’t want to cover The Weird Sisters, since everyone thinks we ought to be like them,” Hestia maintained.

“He also wants a _new_ song played there,” Astoria stated as she peeked at the parchment.

“Eh, we’ll come up with somethin’.”

Rhiannon had essentially left the conversation as soon as she had started it, as she was listening intently to the chattering at the table. Sometimes, Daphne’s various flirtatious endeavours were a topic of discussion at the breakfast table by the gossiping crowd. Yet apart from a few fleeting discussions about the fact that Daphne and Ravenclaw Anthony Goldstein had recently started dating, the main subject appeared to be Rhiannon and Asenath’s relationship.

Rhiannon looked at Imogen Shardlow and Diane Carter with great interest as they began scoffing at Asenath from across the room and saying, “Blood-traitor like the rest of them.”

“Still can’t get over how they ain’t even saying I’m a lesbian,” Rhiannon laughed up her sleeve before reiterating, “It’s not a thing like this with Muggles. I probably wouldn’t even be able to sit here at the table.”

“I’m so sorry, Rhiannon,” Hestia said sympathetically.

“Well, I never got round to dealing with that,” Rhiannon replied. “No one knew I was gay in primary. I barely did.”

“But now you have to put up with prats like Shardlow, Carter, and the rest of them! You know, sometimes I just hate people,” Hestia complained.

“That’s not healthy,” Asenath said as she arrived at the Slytherin table uninvited.

If Astoria could have photographed the change of expressions on Hestia’s face, she would have kept it forever.

“Neither are you,” Hestia instantly attacked.

“Hmm! Slytherin girls always have an edge to them,” Asenath responded imperturbably.

Rhiannon sneered at Hestia with such force that the latter had grown teary-eyed. She stood up and left, making sure to bump Asenath’s shoulder on her way. Flora looked like she dreadfully wanted to leave with her sister, but remained nonetheless and observed Asenath intently. Astoria felt more than uncomfortable as Asenath leaned over Rhiannon’s shoulder and started whispering cloying things in her ear. Rhiannon responded warmly enough to make one nauseated; however, she kept glancing sideways at the staff table to make sure the teachers weren’t getting ready to take House points away for “P.D.A.”

Astoria was not sure of all she heard and knew that that was for the best, but before Asenath left, she asked Rhiannon if she had Astronomy that night. Rhiannon did. Astoria knew that many students used Astronomy class as a means to get around the castle past curfew, and assumed that Asenath was one of those elite few who knew how to avoid getting caught.

“Sit with me at lunch, baby?” Asenath hummed.

“’Course.”

“Dinner too?” Asenath said in that awfully stupid alluring tone which was worse than her normally-stupid alluring tone.

“Yeah,” Rhiannon smiled sweetly.

Astoria arrived at the Arithmancy classroom before Professor Vector that morning just to get away from those two. She had Potions and Umbridge before she would have to meet Draco Malfoy outside in the rain. (He didn’t want Pansy to catch him with her in the common room). Astoria bundled up before the excursion and stood on the stone path outside the greenhouse. Draco arrived ten minutes early. She knew because she was fifteen minutes early. They stared at each other.

“Bit cold,” he said.

“Your idea,” she returned.

“Yeah, sorry.”

They peeked into the greenhouse because it was something to do. Their breath fogged up the glass. They already knew what was in there –– it just looked different from the outside.

“Er, Draco, what do you know about Polyjuice Potion?” Astoria finally asked.

Draco perked right up at the topic.

“ _Oooh_ , are you trying to make one, Greengrass? You’ll get in big trouble.”

“No, no. Listen, this sounds silly, but I think someone made one using my hair. I felt like I couldn’t tell anyone,” she admitted.

Draco pushed his scarf out of the way of his mouth.

“Shouldn’t you tell your parents so they can have the culprit arrested?”

“Aren’t you funny. This is really bothering me.”

He relented and conjured up a bench, something Astoria wished she could do. They sat on it and instantly realised it was a very, very tight bench.

“Sorry…” Draco coughed, and made the bench longer.

They scooted away from each other.

“So, er… You think someone pretended to be you with a Polyjuice Potion? What happened?”

“Well, it was last year. I was walking up Astronomy Tower, and I heard someone talking to Professor Sinistra. I didn’t think much of it, but they mentioned a lot of things to do with me, like homeschooling and being friends with Rhiannon. Then I saw the person, and it was a mirror image of myself. I was scared to death and ran off.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s Polyjuice Potion all right,” Draco said. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“The person Confunded me. Do you remember that one night I was late to class, and Professor Sinistra sent you to find me?”

“Oh! Yeah, you were in the Music room. I do remember that! Was that the same night?”

“Yes. I hid in the Music room, since the person followed me down the stairs. I thought they were gone, but when I opened the door, they Confunded me. I found out because the spell broke the other night. This whole time, I thought nothing had happened.”

Draco was surprisingly respectful of the situation.

“That does sound scary, especially if you didn’t think it was Polyjuice at first. So, who do you think it was? Did it happen again?”

“No, no, it hasn’t happened again. I don’t know who it was. I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“Why me?” Draco asked, his nose glowing red in the cold.

_Because you know these things._

“I figured if there was Polyjuice in the school, you and your goonies would know about it. Since you like pranking people and being mean in general.”

Draco laughed proudly.

“Well, we’ve never made Polyjuice Potion. I’ll tell you who _has_ , though…” he said tantalisingly.

Astoria clenched her jaw in excitement for an actual answer…

“Potter and his lot. I think they’ve been in Snape’s cabinets nicking ingredients.”

Astoria sighed, and the cold painted her breath in white. She put her hands in her pockets. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and the Weasley boy might have had the ability to make the potion if they put their heads together, but they didn’t have the motive at all. They didn’t even know enough about Astoria to effectively impersonate her. Draco just wanted to make them look bad.

“Oh, I get it. You don’t believe me. You think The Miracle Boy wouldn’t do something like that,” Draco scoffed.

He was so fed up with her refusal to take his Potter explanation that he nearly left.

“That isn’t it,” Astoria said. “I don’t doubt that they _could_ make it. I simply don’t see why they would use it to be _me_.”

Draco settled back down.

“Oh. I guess that’s fair. Well, what was the person doing as you? You said talking to Professor Sinistra?”

“And crying,” Astoria added.

“See, that sounds like Potter to me.”

“Draco, come off it for one minute, _please_.”

“All right, all right.”

“They were saying all these things about wanting to go home, and being a failure. It was like they were out to make me look like a cry-baby. Rhiannon said it might have been Pansy, trying to embarrass me.”

“Pansy! Well, I think it was Rhiannon!” Draco argued. “Who else would have that much access to your hair, and your information? And even your _clothes_ , I take it? She’s right in your room!”

Astoria was about to spit a response, but this was the most realistic explanation she had grasped to date. It would not only explain how the person knew so much about her, but also why Rhiannon wouldn’t talk about it anymore. And, it might even explain why they both felt some magic release from them at the same time! How awful! How could Rhiannon do something like that? Astoria was so close to believing Draco, it scared her, but then Astoria thought more carefully about the impersonator. Really, the point that person was trying to make was that Astoria wanted to go home. It had to have been Pansy.

Rhiannon, quite frankly, didn’t have the ability to make Polyjuice Potion, nor did she have the money or opportunity at the time to buy one. And what purpose would it serve to impersonate Astoria to go cry on Professor Sinistra, when she could cry on Professor Sinistra as herself, anyway?

It didn’t matter if she dropped all these thoughts on Draco. Really, it didn’t matter what Draco thought of the situation. The longer she talked to him about it, the further she walked away from the truth. Pansy Parkinson had tried to make Astoria look like she couldn’t handle the classes, especially her favourite class, so that the teachers wouldn’t have any respect for her. They’d all regret that she was put a grade ahead, or accepted into Hogwarts at all! That horrible girl!

“You still there, Greengrass?”

“Yes, sorry. I was thinking. Well, erm, anyway, let’s talk about what was bothering you, then,” she said, in reference to his concern about the breakout.

“Oh, it’s not a big deal. Nothing different from anyone else. I wasn’t too thrilled about Azkaban prisoners on the loose. That’s all.”

“Well, do you want to talk about it? Did you get to talk to your parents about it?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m good now,” Draco lied.

It felt incomplete. Astoria had bared a terrible secret to Draco, and he wouldn’t so much as confide in her about a publicly known event. Still, she didn’t press him, since she wasn’t going to get anywhere.

“Thank you for talking to me, Draco.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

He sounded mildly surprised that she had cut it short, but Astoria needed to be alone, especially away from _Pansy_ ’ _s_ boyfriend.

At the weekend, Astoria, Hestia, and Flora knew that Rhiannon had decided to put off most things besides Asenath. Rhiannon’s neglect of homework and studying were predictable, but things that were important to her friends, such as practising D.A.D.A. in the Astronomy library and songwriting, did not seem to be important to her any longer. The other girls then made up their minds to continue without her, and had started working on a new song and a new spell. Hestia had been adamant that the girls be daring and start practising the Blasting Curse, albeit on a very small scale, using only crumpled pieces of parchment. Surprisingly, Astoria seemed to be the one with the most control over the spell, for the twins had made the Water-Making Spell necessary to put out fires that they had let get a little too big.

That Sunday was the very first that Professor Sinistra had been in Hogwarts before nightfall since the previous June. Coincidentally, Astoria found in the morning paper that a new column entitled “Astro News” had been added. It featured articles about current research in the Astronomy profession and included trivia at the bottom. Determined to make Professor Sinistra’s first morning back a good one, Astoria gallantly walked to the staff table to point out the column to the professor. Professor Sinistra chuckled knowingly. Astoria read the fine print… Professor Sinistra was one of the editors. Astoria had embarrassed herself again.

The night, Rhiannon had returned to the common room at 9:30, the exact moment of curfew, and excitedly ushered her roommates to the dormitory to show them something. The other girls all sat on Astoria’s bed whilst Rhiannon was apparently changing clothes in the bathroom. Flora became impatient quickly, followed by Hestia. Then Rhiannon emerged with her pullover, well, _pulled over_. Rhiannon was keeping her arms at her side so that it covered both her arms and her front. Astoria was glad that the awkward pose did not prompt any questions from the twins, for she knew that Rhiannon was trying to hide her disfigured arm.

“Yes, what lovely bra straps you have; can I go back and finish my Astronomy homework?” Flora said agitatedly.

“No, you div! I haven’t even showed you!”

With that, Rhiannon turned her back to the girls. On it was a massive tattoo of what looked to be a twisted snake skeleton, cut in half at its centre where her spine was. Astoria was admiring the artwork and the detail without calculating the situation until she noticed the love bites on the back of Rhiannon’s neck and heard Hestia make disgusted noises.

“You like it? Pretty nice, eh?” Rhiannon said, turning toward them again.

If she expected smiling faces, she must have been greatly disappointed.

“My cousin gave that to you, then?” Astoria said. “I hope she was decent enough to use the spells that make tattoos removable.”

“No, she said it was a lot harder that way, but I didn’t mind it being permanent none. That’s how it’d be in Muggle ink, anyhow.”

Astoria tut-tutted.

“You don’t like it,” Rhiannon said unhappily.

“Yes, we all adore it immensely,” Flora said quickly. “Put your clothes back on and come help me with this Astronomy.”

Rhiannon grumpily obeyed and was ushered out of the room by Flora.

“Why don’t you get _Astoria_ to help you?” Rhiannon could be heard saying in the hall before it went quiet outside.

At once, Hestia broke into tears. Astoria hurried to get tissues from the bathroom and returned to see that Hestia’s mascara was already staining her cheeks and neck. She was crying aloud but did not readily accepted Astoria’s comfort or even the tissues. That state did not last long, for she then nearly smothered herself with a tissue before lying down on Astoria’s bed. Flora must have wanted Astoria to have a talk with Hestia for a reason, and that reason was probably that she hoped the two would reconcile from their tension. It was, however, a long time before Hestia spoke.

“Why is she with Asenath?” was the first thing that Hestia whimpered. “Is all of this because she danced with her at that banquet?”

“She’s being ridiculous,” Astoria said quietly. “I’ve told her Asenath is no good.”

“My rotten family wouldn’t let us go,” Hestia said loudly, tightening her clutch on Astoria’s blanket. “I could’ve been there.”

“It probably wouldn’t have made a difference,” Astoria said. “She was very upset with me. I almost feel like she’s doing this as a way to get back at me, since I don’t like Asenath much…”

“Thanks for that, then!” Hestia exclaimed angrily.

“Oh, so now you and Rhiannon are both upset at me for not dating her?” Astoria returned. “It’s _her_ decision if she wants to get involved with Asenath!”

“No, Astoria, if you liked Rhi the way she liked you, then we’d _really_ have a situation here,” groaned Hestia before she blew her nose at full volume.

“…Then you’re saying that you fancy Rhiannon?” Astoria realised.

Hestia sat up, and Astoria could see in the light exactly how hard she had been crying.

“You don’t get it, Astoria. I love Rhiannon.”

“You… you love Rhiannon,” Astoria uttered quietly.

The news was not devastating. However, it did add to the already confusing time that Astoria was going through. She began to wonder why people did not simply speak their feelings! Was the fear of getting hurt straight away any worse than getting hurt once the feeling was this deep? Hestia was in love. It had never occurred to Astoria, but she could accept the fact easily. Hestia was the first one to work towards Rhiannon’s dream of forming a band. Hestia was the most vicious when she stood up to Rhiannon’s bullies. Hestia was a disaster the previous year when the girls could not find Rhiannon; she was not much better when Astoria had given Rhiannon dance lessons. Had Hestia’s acts of kindness been overlooked by Rhiannon the whole time because she was busy thinking about Astoria? If Rhiannon had known, would she have been with Hestia instead of Asenath? Was Hestia’s family situation part of the reason she never told Rhiannon of her feelings? Was it the fact that Rhiannon was Muggle-born and Hestia was afraid that Rhiannon would be disgusted that Hestia liked girls?

“Why didn’t you tell her before?” Astoria finally asked.

Astoria had, for once, been correct. Hestia cried about how things would not work with her aunt and uncle’s being Death Eaters and Rhiannon’s being a Muggle-born. She cried about how she could not be sure if Rhiannon was a lesbian. She cried because if Rhiannon had been raised in a Wizarding family, Hestia could have told her freely. She cried because she would have been too scared to admit her feelings anyway. She told Astoria that she had loved Rhiannon “all along,” and that when the dormitory arrangements changed the previous year, Hestia wanted to be in Rhiannon’s dorm more than anything. She said she wanted to be with Rhiannon more than anything. Then she panicked.

“She’s never going to want me now that I’ve gone and told her about my family!” Hestia suddenly exclaimed.

“Hestia! You would have to tell her about them anyway once you were together!” Astoria tried to reason with the girl.

Astoria gathered a blanket from the bed and covered Hestia’s quivering body with it as fast as she could. Hestia’s cries still came out as loud as ever. Astoria found the girl’s hand and held it in her own.

“That stupid Asenath!” Hestia howled. “That –– _filthy_ –– slag! She’s going to use Rhiannon! Everyone’s always out to hurt Rhiannon in one way or another!”

Hestia choked on her words before she stopped speaking entirely. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep, and Astoria had to take Hestia’s bed for the night. Astoria heard the other girls come in at eleven o’clock. She shut her eyes.

It was not until Tuesday night that Astoria outright fought with Rhiannon. At the end of Astronomy class, Astoria decided to go to the library in the tower to find books on Canis Major and Canis Minor, which her class was studying. Trying to push through the mob of Astronomy 4 students, whose class immediately followed Astoria’s, she stepped on several of the feet of her classmates before reaching the library and opening the door.

Three steps later, she had to run back out of the room.

Flora was walking to class with Manami Ichijō and Alexa Crover when Astoria pulled her aside in haste.

“What? What is it?”

“Rhi and Asenath, they…”

“What? Are they hiding in there snogging?”

“I-I-I _think_ it’s snogging…”

“ _Merlin_ ,” Flora said and pushed past Astoria to get into the library. Astoria followed her close behind but stopped by a bookcase so that she might see Flora without seeing the other two.

“All right, break it up, break it up!” Flora said, waving her arms at the two girls who were still on one of the tables. “We’ll never be allowed in here again if you get caught! And she’s got class in two minutes, Greengrass!”

Astoria heard the sound of Asenath’s hands smacking against the table as she moved away from Rhiannon.

“Oh, sorry. I must have lost track of the time,” Asenath said tranquilly.

Astoria heard the sound of a kiss, and her cousin said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.”

“Goodnight,” Rhiannon said before Astoria saw Asenath walked by.

“Really, Asenath,” Astoria said sourly, “You’d make her miss an important class.”

“ _Astronomy_? _Important_?” was Asenath’s retort. She strolled away.

Flora arrived at Astoria’s spot soon after. There was not much to say.

“I… I didn’t know Rhi’s scar was that bad,” Flora mumbled distractedly. She left for class.

It was the only comment that softened Astoria’s anger, but one likely would not have known that. She emerged from the bookcase and confronted Rhiannon.

“You know that this is the reason why people don’t get passes to this room,” Astoria barked instantly. “You know that if somebody else caught you, then _all_ of our passes would have been taken away –– you’d have ruined it for everybody. Do you _know_ that, Rhiannon? Do you hear me‽”

“Oh, shut it. There was nowhere else to really go,” Rhiannon mumbled and buttoned her robe.

“Is that so‽ Well, there’s nowhere else for us to go to practise D.A.D.A.! But I suppose that matters nothing to you!”

“I don’t bloody need this from _you_!”

“And I’m tired of hearing that, too!” Astoria shouted with a force she did not know she had. “ _Pardon me_ for not wanting to do whatever _that_ was on a table with you, but you know how much I care about you as a friend! And as your friend, I know when you’re doing something that isn’t good for you! Gosh, Rhiannon, I can’t seem to figure out whether you’re doing this to get back at me or if you actually _want_ to be with Asenath!”

Rhiannon did not respond to a thing Astoria said. She gathered up her books and started to leave.

“Fix your damn tie,” Astoria spewed.

Rhiannon slammed the door.

~

Astoria and Rhiannon had not spoken in three weeks. It was the longest silence that the two had ever had, and Astoria went to bed every night wishing that they would speak in the morning. They didn’t. Rhiannon sat with Asenath at breakfast so much that the Gryffindors started to get testy about the invasion. Astoria was suffering through nightmares about how she and Rhiannon would never recover. She did not want to believe it was possible, but she felt that Rhiannon had changed, and “change” can be a very bad word for friendships.

Rhiannon couldn’t afford to have her marks slip any more, but she let them slip anyway. And there was no way she could keep the band together if she was ignoring the other members. She ignored them anyway. They had to write songs without her. They had to practise D.A.D.A. without her. They had to do everything without Rhiannon. Other students started to notice. Once, Astoria and Rhiannon had been inseparable. Rhiannon was only with Astoria’s cousin now. It seemed very strange to everyone.

What had become less strange was the fact that Astoria could actually manage to speak to Draco on a regular basis without wanting to break something. In Rhiannon’s absence, Astoria found Draco’s presence. They worked on an Astronomy project together, and he even corrected a mistake on one of her assignments about the declination of Canis Major. It became quite clear that he wouldn’t let her forget it, but it was something Astoria could own up to. He had been so stressed lately that she was willing to let him have that one. She, Astoria Greengrass, had made a mistake in Astronomy.

It was a special event when there was a Hogsmeade visit on a Wednesday rather than a Saturday. The event was none other than Valentine’s Day. Hestia wholly refused to go, and when the girls went to their dorm to change clothes after class, she merely fell onto her bed. No one argued with her. Even though the crowd of visitors would mostly consist of couples that day, Flora and Astoria wanted to go if only to get out of the castle. Most of the Hogwarts students had castle fever, but they held a fear that if they were to leave the grounds, the escaped Death Eaters would be lurking. Things that day, however, were as normal as they were going to get; one would not have even thought that the names of escaped Death Eaters were haunting everyone.

As Astoria and Flora walked to Hogsmeade, they did not enjoy the tranquillity of the February afternoon for very long, for a group of obnoxious girls from their House began promenading alongside of them after having made some comments about Harry Potter and his girlfriend Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker. The much-admired faces of Millicent Bulstrode, Diane Carter, Tracey Nettlebed, Pansy Parkinson, Olivia Shardlow, Chiyo Akiyama, and Imogen Stretton appeared, and each girl made sure to stare at Astoria and Flora as she walked by.

“Well, that was weird,” Astoria said. “For a moment, I thought I had something on my face.”

“That’s what they want you to think when they give you the fisheyes,” Flora said. “Hmph! I’m enjoying the fact that they’re alone on Valentine’s Day. They all must think that’s everyone else’s fault.”

Astoria giggled.

“I figured Malfoy would be with Parkinson, at least,” Flora considered.

“He said he had to oversee some Ravenclaw’s detention this week until five o’clock,” Astoria remembered.

“Oh. He told you that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Astoria caught a glimpse of Daphne, who was holding hands with somebody as they started scurrying up a small road. She could not get a decent look at who her sister was with, but it was not Anthony Goldstein, her most recent boyfriend. The rain timed itself perfectly –– it was the moment when Astoria spotted Rhiannon and Asenath kissing under a lamp post.

“I’m so glad you aren’t like your sister or your cousins,” Flora said, shaking her head.

“It’s only two of my cousins,” Astoria reminded.

“I wouldn’t be able to put up with you.”

“I’m glad you are able.”

Astoria and Flora went to the Three Broomsticks, but it was full of couples. They went to Honeydukes, but it was full of couples. It seemed like the only place that was not swarmed with lovebirds was the Hogsmeade plumber’s office. Without anything interesting to do and without any shopping list, the two girls ambled round the village talking about nothing in particular. Flora made use of the charmed parasol that Astoria had got her for Christmas; they walked all over in the rain without a single drop blowing into their eyes. Eventually, they stopped to rest in front of the WWN building. Dusk had arrived, and a nearby street lantern made two posters beneath it shine quite clearly.

“It’s an advert for our concert,” Flora said as the poster on the top lit up in green. “I can see they decided to design it _for_ us.”

Astoria thought it was quite plain for a concert ad. The company obviously put more effort into advertising The Weird Sisters. Her eyes were then drawn to the poster which showed the photographs of the escaped Death Eaters. Apparently, the government would hand over one-thousand Galleons to anyone who had information concerning their whereabouts. Astoria looked at the poster for the lack of anything better to do. In particular, she looked at the Lestrange trio. Rodolphus was twice the size of Rabastan and looked like he could have been half-asleep when the photo was taken. Rabastan, however, looked like he had grabbed the wrong phial in his medicine cabinet. He was so tense in the picture that it seemed like if one were to touch the paper, he would jump out and attack. Astoria saw that the only witch in the entire group, Bellatrix, was swaying back and forth slightly with a look of sheer hubris on her face. Beneath the trio’s images read, “Convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.”

Astoria felt unsettled. The woman looked familiar.

“Have either of you seen Pansy?”

Draco was still in his uniform and had his hood up in attempt to protect himself from the rain. Flora jumped at his abrupt arrival, but Astoria could see his nose through the shadows and was anything but frightened.

“I haven’t,” Astoria said merrily.

“I have,” Flora grumbled. “She’s been standing across the street looking at the wanted poster for about five minutes.”

“She––” Draco said confusedly as he glanced at the poster on the lamp post. “Oh.”

Astoria’s eyes adjusted to the dim light as she looked away from the glow of the street lantern and focused on Parkinson. She was in fact standing there quite still. When Draco met her, she was even more startled than Flora had been, but she started kissing Draco immediately. Astoria looked away.

“Let’s go back, shall we?”

Flora agreed. On their way back, they encountered Daphne and Tracey Davis, who had come off of a side road carrying flowers and chocolates in their arms. They were jabbering things like, “Isn’t he the sweetest?” and did not immediately notice the other two walking behind them.

“Oh, but I can’t believe what happened,” Astoria overheard Tracey say.

“I suppose I _can_ ,” Daphne said. “I mean, Harry Potter’s always seemed a bit daft to me, and we all know Cho’s as mawkish as my sister. However, I was not expecting it to happen next to _me_.”

“Hello, Daphne…” Astoria grunted.

“Hey!” Tracey said.

“Oh, hello, Astoria. Look at what Roger bought for me!”

Daphne showed Astoria a delicate bracelet with pink stones.

“Roger? What happened to Anthony?” she asked.

“Anthony? Oh, Anthony was _ages_ ago,” Daphne figured.

“As in a month,” Flora mumbled.

“Roger doesn’t mind my French kissing,” said Daphne smugly to Tracey when asked some unheard question.

Astoria had begun to regret joining them for the walk back.

No matter how many times the students wanted to get out early, Astronomy ended at 11:30 on Wednesdays, and Astoria was so tired that night that she considered sleeping in the library rather than walking all the way back to the dungeons. It was not a serious consideration, but she had subconsciously gravitated toward that side of the tower on her way down the steps. She passed the door at first but came back. She was certain she had heard crying.

Astoria entered the room as quietly as possible. Tip-toeing down the main aisle, she looked carefully between each row of bookshelves. She saw nothing, but she still heard the crying. She knew Rhiannon had to be in the room. Astoria approached the study area and saw Rhiannon sitting at the same table on which she had been caught with Asenath. Rhiannon was terribly startled.

“I-I thought you were a first-year.”

“They shouldn’t be coming in here tonight. Professor Sinistra already put their notes on the board upstairs,” Astoria reported.

Her claim was verified by the sound of tinier feet walking up the steps. The first words to Rhiannon since the fight had been spoken, and Astoria exhaled. Rhiannon did not say anything again, so Astoria took a seat next to her and waited for her to stop crying. It was a long wait.

“I came in here like you told me not to,” Rhiannon whispered.

Astoria stared at the floor until she heard Rhiannon smack something onto the table. It was the shard of the Foe-Glass, and the clearest image was Asenath. Astoria carefully moved Rhiannon’s fingers from the sides of the sharp glass. Rhiannon started crying afresh.

“What did she do?” Astoria asked. She felt herself reaching for her wand even though Asenath was nowhere around.

“Nothing,” Rhiannon choked.

“Well, what did she say?”

“Nothing,” Rhiannon insisted. “We didn’t do anything. Th-That’s why. That’s why she left. She wasn’t happy with where our relationship was going. She’s not coming back. She’s with Joan Kerridge or Swati Pevekar right now probably. Or both. Or more. I don’t bloody know. But I… Well, she… I wasn’t ready to, to er, do what she wanted to do… She said that was fine, but she made it out to seem like we weren’t gonna be a thing anymore if it wasn’t… y’know, going anywhere.”

“Why, that heartless––”

“Save it, Astoria. I know,” said Rhiannon. “I know.”

Rhiannon put her head down and let out a single, painful groan.

“I’m an idiot.” Rhiannon tapped the surface of the Foe-Shard and announced, “She’s been in there since Christmas Eve, y’know.”

“…Then _why_ , Rhiannon?” Astoria asked as gently as she could.

“Thought that’s what I wanted,” Rhiannon said bluntly. “I guess I just wanted to make you angry. To say I did something without you.”

Astoria nodded.

“I really thought about being more with Asenath. I thought maybe _I_ was the one looking at it wrong –– I was expecting her to fill in some of the emptiness, like. But I didn’t like how she claimed she loved me. There’s no way she could have fallen in love like that. She don’t even know me! She just wanted in my pants.”

“I understand how you feel,” Astoria reassured.

It was 12:15 when Astoria and Rhiannon walked into the dormitory, but the twins were still awake. Flora had apparently been deep in a book, and angrily shut it when the other two entered the room. Hestia was effectively buried in her blankets and when Rhiannon asked the girls why they were still awake, Hestia responded, “I made a mistake!”

“So’ve I,” Rhiannon mumbled. “I dated Asenath Greengrass.”

“Dated? You mean you broke up with her?” Flora asked cheerfully.

“I’m thinking _she_ broke up with me, but yeah, I’m rid of her,” Rhiannon answered.

“Oh –– that’s lovely,” Hestia said. The girls could not see her but they could tell she was smiling when she spoke. “That’s perfect.”

“Why don’t you get out of those blankets?” Astoria asked.

Hestia wildly threw the blankets off of her. She had a new haircut that she was evidently unhappy with. Hestia had straight fringe that stopped above her eyebrows and long, artistic fringe on the sides. She looked quite nice with it; Astoria couldn’t see the problem. Then Hestia bowed over her lap, and Astoria and Rhiannon gasped. The back of Hestia’s head had nothing but fuzz; she had an authentic Chelsea.

“Where is your hair‽” Astoria exclaimed.

“I told you I made a mistake!”

“Were you trying to get the skinhead look, or…?” Rhiannon said.

“No, I swear! I didn’t even know what a skinhead was until Flora told me!”

“This is too funny,” Rhiannon said.

“I don’t think it’s funny at all! I just wanted short hair!” Hestia squeaked.

“Well, you can cut off the rest of that fringe and be bald,” said Rhiannon.

“ _Or_ ,” said Astoria, “you can use a charm to make your hair grow back.”

“Er –– er, I don’t know,” Hestia blabbered. “I thought it might look good for the concert, though, but if people are going to say I’m a skinhead…”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Astoria said.

“Yeah, only the Muggle-borns will know,” Rhiannon said. “And they’ve gotta know you ain’t one. I say go on and keep it.”

“…You think so?” Hestia asked energetically.

Flora and Astoria exchanged unconvinced looks.

“Yeah! It’s cute,” answered Rhiannon.

“Then the hair stays,” Hestia resolved.


	15. The Stage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 15 - "Another Brick in the Wall (Parts 1, 2, & 3)" by Pink Floyd

The girls were lucky that they were comfortable playing the songs from their album, for nothing truer could have been said about the concert than that they were entirely unprepared for it. With only nine days before the gig, the band abandoned their homework for the sake of not embarrassing themselves to death in Hogsmeade. Not a single assignment from the four that week earned anything higher than a “C;” Astoria even hurried through her new star chart in Astronomy and had Draco do the rest. Her priority was learning how to sing whatever Pink Floyd was, which proved more difficult than one would have thought. Rhiannon had given up trying to learn Hestia and Astoria’s new song, “Saccharine,” and opted to play rhythm guitar whilst Hestia would play main guitar. This meant there would be no bass line, and Astoria grew frustrated as Rhiannon took time to write the part for the rhythm guitar rather than learn the original song. It also meant that they would have to “rent” a guitar from Professor Flitwick, and although he was eager to help, it was clear that the guitar had seen better days. Hestia nearly broke her wand in anger after trying to tune the ill-treated instrument.

There was simply no time to learn another song as Mr Mongaby wanted. However, the time slot for the concert was one hour, and the girls only had about forty-five minutes of material. Astoria brainstormed and wrote to him saying that they could play one of their songs that had not made it on the album. It would bring the time closer to fifty minutes, and interactions with the audience could account for the remaining time. After Mr Mongaby accepted the compromise, Rhiannon chose their song “Sylhet,” which, she admitted for the first time, was about the first person she ever fancied. It reminded Astoria of how strange it was going to be to sing a love song about Philippe now that the two were over. She then wondered what performing “Useless” was going to be like for Rhiannon.

Mr Mongaby sent the band a letter telling them many things they already knew –– the concert would begin at eight o’clock in the venue in the WWN building and end at nine, and the girls needed to at least try to coordinate their dress and “move confidently” on stage. However, he told them for the first time that the stage was going to have a special shielding charm over it, which greatly upset Rhiannon, who wanted a more intimate concert. Astoria gave Mr Mongaby the benefit of the doubt; ten Death Eaters were still at large.

“At least this way we won’t get hit by a turnip like Stubby Boardman did,” Hestia added.

Astoria’s would have rather let the other girls have a go at the concert and sit in the audience herself. The largest audience in front of which she had performed was the previous year’s Music class. Furthermore, the concert was open to the public –– _the actual public_ –– and not only the school. Flora was estimating the age demographic to be between thirteen and twenty-five. That seemed like a highly judgmental age group to Astoria. The other girls were persevering, but every time Astoria walked by the flashing poster hung on the bulletin board in the common room, she felt a little worse. So much was expected of her.

By the Wednesday before the show, Astoria had heard several small conversations amongst other students about the concert, but they were mostly about what they were going to wear to it. The sedateness of their discussions only added to Astoria’s self-consciousness. To add to it, Draco had struck up an inopportune conversation that day and asked her where the concert was.

“That’s on the sign,” Astoria replied.

“Oh. Then what time is it, and how long will it be?”

“That’s also on the sign.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to be caught looking at the sign?”

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” Astoria growled.

~

Astoria wondered how many students would have shown up if it wasn’t for the facts that there was a Hogsmeade trip that day and that student curfew was not until eleven on the weekends. Many students were still milling about the village when the band arrived at the WWN building at seven o’clock; hopefully, they would come to the concert even if it was merely “something to do” in their minds.

Astoria’s piano had been placed in the centre. Rhiannon would be on her right, Hestia would be on her left, and Flora was elevated on a platform behind the piano. When Astoria had no piano part, she was supposed to “explore stage down,” as Mr Mongaby said, and she knew he probably didn’t mean that she should pace around like she had been doing for the past fifteen minutes.

It occurred to her after receiving a heartening letter from her parents that morning that she had never written to them about the concert. It was not intentional, but she almost wished that they had not seen the announcement in the newspaper. How would the rest of the audience feel if there was a cluster of fourteen or fifteen extra Greengrass relatives who would be too dressed up for the occasion and would take the best spots in the front? Astoria looked at her bandmates and felt a little too dressed up herself. She was wearing one of the new dresses her mother had bought her for Christmas –– a dark blue, flowing dress with a single strap. Rhiannon, in contrast, had not invested her new small fortune in clothes by any means and was wearing nothing out of the ordinary. In an attempt to “coordinate” with both Astoria and Rhiannon, Flora and Hestia were wearing dark jeans and dressy shirts. It was the best they could do considering that they were not The Weird Sisters, whose garments often seemed to all be created from a single piece of tattered black cloth.

The charm had been cast over the stage, a magical curtain that was going to dissolve once they started playing had been established in front of them, and Pariah was on in fifteen minutes. Flora, as usual, kept a stiff upper lip and a still seat. Astoria knew that Flora must have been nervous, but Flora channelled all of those nerves into the grip she had on her drumsticks. Astoria had nothing to hold; nothing was strapped over her shoulder, and when she wasn’t playing piano –– as she wasn’t going to be during the opening song –– she would be directly facing the audience. She had to look at people who expected to be entertained –– people who had begun to enter the venue. Behind the immaterial, glittering dark curtain, Astoria could not see them, but by the sound of it, there were a lot of people there. Pariah was on in ten.

“I hear Tracey,” Rhiannon mouthed and pointed downward and diagonally to indicate where their friend was. Astoria applauded Rhiannon’s ability to discern voices over a noise louder than the Great Hall during meal times. Pariah was on in five.

“Oh gosh, oh gosh,” Hestia mouthed as she bounced on her toes. The indication that she was nervous still did not take away from how brazen she looked with her new hair.

Astoria heard the doors to the auditorium shut. The lights above her transitioned from soft white to green. There were a few cheers of anticipation as the lights above the audience went out.

“Hello, hello, it’s a great night here at the Hogsmeade WWN…”

The voice was quick, clear, and full of dynamism, and the girls, knowing that it belonged to Ms Glenda Chittock, looked at one another with smiles on their faces.

“…and with us tonight are the four witches –– we know as –– _Pariah_!”

It was a very bad time for Astoria’s jaw to glue itself at the teeth.

She wasn’t thinking correctly. She was seeing bouncing people in the audience when the girls started playing. She saw some people from her school. She saw a lot of people she did not recognise. The rest she could not see. It was very dark where the audience was, but there were lights all over her face. She heard Hestia start singing, “ _You meet me_ , _you keep me_.” Wasn’t that Astoria’s verse? Why were the people in the front looking at her uncertainly?

“ _You seek me when I feel the pain_ …”

Hestia’s voice was faltering. There was no way she was going to reach that high note… Why did she try to sing Astoria’s part in the first place? Astoria smiled; Hestia was really going for it, but she wasn’t going to make it.

“ _You seek me_ , _you meet me_ , _you keep me_ ––” Hestia cheeped.

“ _Sane_!” Astoria sang, helping the other girl out.

The audience was surprised and delighted to hear Astoria’s voice all of a sudden, and it was this reaction that brought her brain back to normal. She had missed her cue –– that’s what the problem was! The crowd apparently was unaware of the temporary chaos that Astoria caused, and for that, she was infinitely grateful. The girls immediately followed “Genesis” with “The Pariah” and smiled enough to hurt their faces when they received their applause. The crowd was larger than Astoria expected, estimating that there were about seven-hundred people there at first, although after quickly applying her knowledge of Arithmancy to the venue, she came closer to the estimate of eight-hundred. Still, she thought that Rhiannon would be disappointed by the size. The other girls would not be. Hestia was trying to look calm, Astoria could tell, as she moved forward to sing the next song, which was in her vocal range. Astoria took a seat at her piano and heard Rhiannon ask the crowd, “How d’you like Hestia’s new haircut?”

There was a lot of cheering, and Hestia looked at her feet, smiling.

“You can tell Flora and me apart now, right?” Hestia asked.

With their only decent method of communication being cheering, the crowd cheered once more, but Astoria could see that they actually were amused by the discussion. She was beginning to have fun.

“This one’s ‘Ivy,’” Hestia stated.

A surprisingly large portion of the Hogwarts crowd managed to make wolf-whistles upon the announcement of the provocative song of which Hestia was so proud. After having some luck in loosening up on stage, Astoria at once reverted and used her excuse of sitting down at the piano to not get expressively involved with Hestia’s prickly little tune. However, their next song, “Blood Panel” was actually one during which Astoria would have preferred to “explore the stage.” She found it somewhat funny how her own song gave her so much adrenaline. She wrote it as a protest song against pure-blood supremacists and wanted everyone to know it. Over time, it had become her favourite song; her confidence showed through her performance, and Pariah received their largest applause yet.

“Thank you so much,” she gasped.

She took a long drink of water. She had no vocals on the next song and was grateful. She placed her fingers on the keys but Rhiannon had begun strumming something different entirely. Astoria glanced at Hestia, who by her expression had never heard the tune in her life, either. What were they to do? Rhiannon kept playing the unknown song as she started addressing the audience.

“I wrote this next song to raise awareness of child abuse,” Rhiannon said plainly to a hushed crowd. “What I just played was part of ‘Rag Doll’ by The Hobgoblins. Sort of the same idea.”

Rhiannon’s guitar at once blasted familiar noise throughout the auditorium, and the girls played their most emphatic performance of “Father” yet. After the applause died out, they performed “Sylhet” for the first time. All of them were bathed in their uncertainty about it, but the audience seemed to like the new tune nonetheless. Astoria smugly thought of Mr Mongaby being shocked that their demo produced this kind of reaction. She stood proudly, ready for the next song.

“This is a cover by a Muggle band,” Astoria said and saw many people look at one another quizzically.

“I’m sure the Muggle-borns’ll know it,” Rhiannon laughed. “All right. It’s called ‘Another Brick in th––”

There were some unnecessarily excited cheers from people in various parts of the audience.

“Pink Floyd!” a pair of Muggle-born fans knew.

“So even if you’ve no idea what a Pink Floyd is, as I still don’t,” Astoria laughed, “They’ll help you figure out when to sing for _me_ –– yes, that’s right.”

“We’re playing the full version, by the way,” Rhiannon informed.

“As full of a full version as we feel like,” Hestia clarified.

Rhiannon and Hestia started to play, and Astoria got butterflies in her stomach. This time, though, they weren’t going to be enough to stop her from singing. She had a lot of fun with the song; she considered it a slam to Umbridge. Rhiannon opened.

“ _Daddy_ ’ _s flown_ ’ _cross the ocean_

_Leaving just a memory_

_Snapshot in the family album_

_Daddy_ , _what else did you leave for me_?”

“ _Daddy_ , _what_ ’ _d ya leave behind for me_?” Astoria joined her, happy to have broken her silence.

“ _All in all it was just a brick in the wall_

 _All in all it was all just bricks in the wall_.”

The crowd watched them carefully. As rehearsed, Rhiannon skipped much of the guitar solo and went straight into the part of the song which was ironically titled “The Happiest Days of Our Lives.” Astoria knew the next part would get anybody who went to Hogwarts involved with the song.

“ _When we grew up and went to school_ ,

_There were certain teachers_

_Who would hurt the children any way they could_

_By pouring their derision upon anything we did_ ,

 _Exposing every weakness_ ,

 _However carefully hidden by the kids_.”

It was so funny to say this without getting detention. A group of young men in the back actually shouted, “Doooolooooreeeees,” holding out _all_ the vowels. Astoria, unable to resist the temptation, made a “hem hem” sound in her throat as Umbridge was wont to, and the crowd suddenly cheered wildly. Unfortunately, the act had temporarily disturbed her throat, and she missed several notes on the following parts. Thankfully, she recovered in time to sing the iconic chorus.

“ _Hey –– teacher_! _Leave them kids alone_!”

For Astoria, there was something so strangely liberating about the bad grammar. She danced freely round the stage whilst she sang. Her comfort made the gig more personal, she thought. It was a great feeling. She was succeeding, and unafraid to laugh at herself.

“ _I don_ ’ _t need no arms around me_ ,” Rhiannon sang at the beginning of Part Three. She sang the verse, no doubt with the disappointment of Asenath fresh in her memory. “ _I don’t need no drugs to calm me_ …”

“ _All in all_ , _it was all just bricks in the wall_

 _All in all_ , _you were all just bricks in the wall_!”

Astoria and Rhiannon finished the lyrics with an explosion of energy and were met with a crowd who wondered where Pink Floyd had been all their lives. Astoria spun round and fetched her water and Rhiannon’s.

“Well, that was fun,” Flora said, leaning into a microphone meant for her drums to say the first sentence she had said since the concert started. People laughed and called out their go-to phrase: “wooo.”

Astoria was happy to sit back at her piano since her legs hurt so much. “The Things Unsaid” turned out to be an inadequate follow-up to the energetic Pink Floyd song, but Pariah moved right into “Underbelly” and won their audience back. The problem was that Astoria was getting tired. She had to cut some of her enthusiasm for “Sweet Nothings,” but she reasoned that she would probably inadvertently do that anyway since it was about Philippe. The audience swayed with their wands lighted like candles, and Astoria saw it as a sort of ironic funeral for a relationship. Rhiannon, however, did not hide any of the emotion during “Useless,” which forced Astoria to hide some of her discomfort. Finally, one of Hestia’s forward songs relieved them, though when Hestia sang, “ _I know my feelings can_ ’ _t be destroyed_ , _so I scream in my head and make no noise_ ,” Astoria knew it must have been a song about Rhiannon; it seemed there was no escape from heartache in Pariah’s songs.

Astoria was quite impressed with Hestia’s singing, and had to keep herself from joining the audience in clapping for her band mate. Astoria was quite worn out, but she forced herself from her bench to début Pariah’s new song, the last song of the night. It _had_ to go as well as the rest of the concert had. She was determined to use the energy she had left to make it count. Hestia was switching to her borrowed guitar.

“This is our newest creation,” Astoria said. “It’s called ‘Saccharine.’”

“ _Woooo_ ,” said the crowd.

“This is for anybody who’s been someone’s _second_ choice.”

“ _Oooooh_!” said the crowd.

Hestia started to play, and Astoria immediately thought that the guitar was too loud. Why it was, she did not know, as Hestia apparently could not help it, but Astoria did not mind singing louder to compete with the shabby old thing. The song was about Philippe, after all, and she was certainly content to be loud about that painful story.

“ _When I met you_ , _I was fooled_

_I saw honesty in your eyes_

_You_ ’ _d look at me and let me know_

 _That you_ ’ _d never tell me lies_

_How could I know your affections_

_Flew in all possible directions_?

 _I guess it wasn_ ’ _t clear_

 _Whenever when you weren_ ’ _t near_

_You were getting ready for the next one_

_So I_ ’ _ve washed out the pink in my cheeks_

 _And I_ ’ _ve come out of my daydreams_

 _And I_ ’ _ve run out of reasons to think_

 _That you_ ’ _re anything at all to me_

 _I won_ ’ _t sing to you like a bird in a cage_

_You only let me out when the others fly away_

‘ _Out of sight_ , _out of mind_ ’ _is your favourite phrase after all_

 _I won_ ’ _t be the one you cheat_

 _I_ ’ _m not someone for you to meet_

 _And put away_ , _put away_

 _For when you_ ’ _re feeling bored and dull_

 _I wouldn_ ’ _t mind if it was one_

 _Just one I wouldn_ ’ _t mind_

 _For one_ ’ _s a reason to forget me_

 _To give your_ ‘ _one_ ’ _your time_

 _But when it_ ’ _s two or three or four_

 _I know my name_ ’ _s still in your drawer_

_Amongst the many others_

_You call your backup lovers_

_But I_ ’ _ve run out of letters to write_

 _And I won_ ’ _t stay up crying all night_

’ _Cause now I know better than to think_

 _That you_ ’ _re_ anything _at all to me_!”

Astoria realised she seemed a lot angrier than she thought she did during the second chorus, but she figured it was a good thing to give passionate performances. It was also drawing attention away from the random noises that Hestia’s rented guitar decided to spit out at varied intervals. Astoria continued singing with all of her might. She was ending this concert on a good note.

“ _I refuse to be a number_

_Hope it keeps you from your slumber_

_When all your pretty things will know_

_You never let the last girl go_

_Oh_ , _pity when your spares run out_

_Pity when your hair falls out_

_When there_ ’ _s no one new who_ ’ _ll want you_

 _And no one left who you can use!_ ”

The noise was so deafening that, at first, Astoria did not know if it was good or bad. It was good. Thank goodness, it was good. She sputtered out thank-you’s as her band mates shouted them to the roaring audience.

“You’re all lovely,” she said to the still-cheering audience and had to prevent herself from crying in her joy. “Thank you so, so much.”

Astoria threw her arms in the air in victory. Pariah had won the night.


	16. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to see how Astoria & co.'s story intersects with Harry's at last! Astronomy Tower seems spookier now... xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 16 - "Youth" by Daughter

If Astoria had known that Rhiannon was going to make the band attend the Quidditch match the day after the concert, she would have slept in much longer. The match did not end until after dark, and after having spoken about Pariah with multitudes of students whom she did not know, she was ready to collapse. Walking back to the school, she fell behind the overjoyed Slytherins, who were cheering all sorts of things about how Gryffindor lost to Hufflepuff. The rest of the band, who somehow had enough energy to still be accepting little interviews from fans, walked far ahead of her. She wished she would have picked up her pace, though, for she fell back too far and ended up next to Draco.

“Why are you walking so slowly?” he asked with all of the empty harshness he could muster.

“I’m barely able to walk anymore. Why are _you_ walking so slowly? Shouldn’t you be up there with the crowd celebrating Gryffindor’s defeat?”

“I was celebrating it in my own way,” Draco said pompously. “I stayed behind to catch the faces of the Gryffindor team as they left the pitch. It was great, really. Do you know that we can win the Quidditch Cup now?”

“I’ve heard that, yes.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard for me,” he continued arrogantly.

“Unless you mess up,” Astoria said, trying to bring him back down to Earth.

“You mean like you did at the concert?” Draco laughed. “At the beginning –– you weren’t even going to sing! Ha! Your face was better than those Weasleys’ were today.”

“That was intentional, Draco,” she asserted.

“That’s what the rest of them think,” he said, “but they don’t know you. _I_ know you.”

“Well, I’m terribly sorry the concert was ruined for you because of the alternating vocals,” huffed Astoria, determined to conceal the mistake from him.

“When did I say it was ruined?” he responded.

“You are acting like you paid more attention to the mistakes than to the music,” she said, urgently trying to sound like she did not care.

“It was difficult to pay attention when Pansy kept saying she wanted to leave early. I think she started pointing out non-existent mistakes, actually… You know, she really does not like you, Astoria.”

“It’s her own fault; I didn’t do anything to that girl.”

Astoria heard her voice echo now that they were in the castle and felt rather embarrassed as a few students looked back at her.

“You made her go bald at the start of December,” Draco corrected.

“I certainly did once she called my friends fat and stupid.”

“Yet one of the first things _you_ said to _her_ was ‘You’re a bitch’ or something.”

“She tripped me on the train for no reason and said my family was bad at magic!”

“She was just joking around,” Draco said.

“…You didn’t believe her when she said she was joking back then,” said Astoria sadly.

Draco chose to look at the ceiling of the dungeons rather than continue the argument he was clearly losing. They were the last two to enter the common room, which was in the midst of an uproar. Astoria saw Rhiannon sitting on the floor by the bulletin board with her head in her hands, surrounded by sympathetic people who never would have been there before she started Pariah. Hestia was pushing past them to get to her, saying unintelligible words to the nearby Flora and Montel. Most people in the room looked angry, but Parkinson ran to her boyfriend with a coiled smile on her face.

“You’re over, Greengrass,” she giggled as she tugged Draco toward her possessively as if he were her favourite toy. “Go –– go have a look! It’s right on the bulletin!”

Rhiannon’s swearing became louder as Astoria inched closer to the board. She saw why Parkinson was so delighted.

–––––– BY ORDER OF ––––––

**The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts**

Any teacher, Prefect, or staff member has the right and duty to confiscate pieces of art, music, writing, or any so-called creative works which are profane, defamatory, or particularly detrimental to the advancement of students’ education.

Therefore, all students are hereby banned from possessing any work created by the band Pariah or any of its members. Students are hereby banned from possessing works by Cannibal Coven and Undead Toys and any of their members.

Students are thus banned from attending any Pariah, Cannibal Coven, or Undead Toys concert or any concert which includes these bands or any of their members.

Students are further banned from listening to any wireless material created by or regarding the aforementioned bands or any of their members.

 _The above is in accordance with the Second Amendment to Educational Decree Number Twelve_.

**Signed:**

**_Dolores Jane Umbridge_ **

**HIGH INQUISITOR**

Parkinson, who had left the common room briefly whilst Astoria stared at the bulletin in shock, returned with her dorm key hanging from her wrist. In her hand were three copies of _Fed Lines_ ; by the way the girls reacted, the albums belonged to Tracey, Daphne, and Heather Thatcham.

“Well, you all read the decree! There’s no use fussing about it. Pariah will be splitting soon.”

Then, with a smile on her face, Parkinson walked across the room with her roommates’ albums and tossed them into the fireplace. Tracey shouted as she ran over and watched her cassette melt away. She could get another one at home, but that wasn’t the point. Daphne and Heather stood together, dumbfounded at their friend’s behaviour. Anyone in the room who had not gasped had become silenced in their surprise. Flora stormed to the dormitory. Rhiannon clung to Hestia and did not move, and for a time, no one else did either. Astoria looked away from Rhiannon to see Draco standing motionlessly, staring at his girlfriend until she brushed past several groups of people to retreat to her dorm. Draco then looked at Astoria without having a thing to say.

“You need to stop fooling yourself, Draco,” she said to him through her teeth.

The students were all very grateful that neither Umbridge nor Parkinson had any authority to search the dormitories for musical contraband, for they all resolved to simply not let the albums leave their rooms lest they get thrown into the fire. By morning, the event had become something of a joke, and Astoria peeked over Alexa Crover’s shoulder to find an artistic rendition of Parkinson in an Umbridge costume floating over a flaming pit. One student whom Astoria did not know approached her on her way to breakfast and told her that he would still go to their concerts in the summer if they weren’t going to disband. Astoria did not catch his name, but he had made her day.

Things with the band would no longer be easy. One Hufflepuff student had her wireless playing during lunchtime; through no fault of her own, the hosts on the show chose to discuss the recent Pariah concert. All at once, Umbridge sprang from her seat to confiscate the wireless and returned to her little sandwich a happy woman. Astoria, having seen the series of events, decided to reimburse the Hufflepuff with a Galleon with which she could buy a new wireless. The girl was overjoyed and told her friends what had happened even though they had been right there to see it. Astoria felt particularly good about herself after that. She paid back Heather Thatcham for her lost album immediately afterward; Tracey could easily get another from her father, and Daphne could come by another one similarly.

“I see… we will have to win our publicity with acts of kindness instead of the usual advertising,” Flora examined. “And nothing is preventing people outside the school from buying our next album.”

“Most of our fan base is from Hogwarts,” Rhiannon said bleakly.

“Nothing is preventing the students from buying our album over the summer,” Flora replied steadfastly.

“Don’t speak too loud or the pink one will mandate something new,” scowled Rhiannon.

“Why do you think she mandated _this_ in the first place?” Hestia wondered quietly.

“The Pink Floyd cover,” replied Rhiannon.

“I still think it was worth it,” Astoria considered.

“ _You_ would,” Rhiannon said drily. “But we could lose this job.”

~

It was Monday morning. The enchanted ceiling was cast in a ghostly grey, and wispy streams of soundless wind swirled the floating fog into all sorts of shapes that real clouds never seemed to make. Outside, the sun had made some effort to show itself, for creamy beams of light delicately tumbled down from the windows and fell atop the students’ heads. There was some commotion coming from the Gryffindor table that morning, but that wasn’t anything new. Astoria heard Umbridge’s voice in the background and cast it aside. She was very sleepy that morning; she did not even remember to complain about going to Herbology. The strange and languorous Luna Lovegood approached the foursome as they were each trying different methods to render the hellebore plant non-toxic.

“Try sweep, swish, flicker, and another swish,” Luna advised, enunciating each word with the beat of a waltz.

Hestia and Rhiannon immediately obeyed, but Astoria thought it would be best to wait until Luna left to try it, lest she mess it up and embarrass herself. Flora acted as though she had not heard the girl and waited until Professor Sprout told her to do exactly the same thing.

“Would any of you like to purchase…” Luna asked later as she reached into her shoulder bag which she had not removed at the start of class. “…March’s issue of _The Quibbler_?”

“Psh,” Flora said into her hellebore.

Astoria considered buying it only to make Luna happy until Luna added a better reason.

“It includes an interview with Harry Potter and revolutionary research about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!”

Crumple-Horned Snorkacks aside, Astoria thought it would be interesting to read an interview with the Boy Whom Draco Hated. She purchased a copy whilst Rhiannon looked on curiously.

“That magazine’s full of rubbish, Astoria,” Rhiannon noted once Luna pranced away.

“I did see Harry Potter with a copy earlier, so at least the interview must be legitimate,” Hestia recognised.

“Huh. Well, we’ll all have to read it later then,” nodded Rhiannon.

“ _Huh_ ,” Rhiannon said after class as the girls passed a massive sign with Umbridge’s signature that declared that any student with _The Quibbler_ would be expelled. “Must’ve just put these up, unless Loony’s out to get us.”

“I’m sure the former is true,” Astoria said. “It’s the same as our album –– we simply must keep the magazine hidden. We’ll read it in the dormitory.”

“And as an added safety measure…” Flora said, aiming her wand down Astoria’s satchel and wiping the magazine blank, “We’ll keep it this way until we read it.”

Everybody else was either tremendously less nervous about the decree or slightly sneakier than the four girls, for they had already read enough of the interview to be talking about it in the halls that afternoon. The bits of conversation that Astoria was able to hear surprised her, for they spoke of such things as an illegal Portkey, a Triwizard Tournament judge who went insane, and a Death Eater in the school.

“Death Eaters in Hogwarts!” Astoria exclaimed before taking her seat in double Charms. “Are they serious? Where did that idea come from?.”

“The story’s true,” Rhiannon said weirdly.

“You mean to tell me you already _know_ it all?” Astoria asked.

“No –– oh, no. Couldn’t tell you a thing about that Cedric or nothing.”

“What? Then how do you mean it’s true?” Flora required, twirling the feather of her quill in the air in anticipation.

“I can’t explain it here.”

Rhiannon’s roll of parchment wouldn’t flatten, and she gave up after two tries. Hestia used a smart little spell to help her out, but Rhiannon had already slipped deep into thought. Astoria’s brain went haywire. Did this have anything to do with Rhiannon’s reluctance to talk about the magic that broke out of them that one night?

“Then may I ask _how_ you found it out before this interview? Or why you didn’t tell us?” Flora said in haste, for Professor Flitwick was about to start class.

“I only found out a bit of it. Just a bit, mind, not anything like this interview. What I know is different from what Harry knows. And I wouldn’t’ve known at all, except… oh, it was a regular mess. I was told not to tell or else people would be sacked.”

Class began, and Astoria was forced to remain uninformed until that evening. What was to come she could have never imagined.

~

**_HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:_ **

**_THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED_ **

**_AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN_ **

**Exclusive Report by Rita Skeeter**

Astoria was not sure if she was going to be able to read the article aloud. She, Flora, and Hestia were crowded onto her bed whilst Rhiannon lay in her own with a blanket tucked under one arm.

“I wanna ask you an enormous favour,” she said, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes.

“What’s that, Rhi?” Hestia asked.

“Read it through, the whole thing. Don’t stop to comment or panic. Read the whole story first. We already know the ending of it –– You-Know-Who is back. You could go your whole lives without knowing the beginnings and the middles. So just read the whole story and wait till it’s finished to start commenting.”

“What? But––” Flora started.

“ _Please_.”

“Very well,” Astoria agreed without much thought before she started to read the introduction to the article.

> “What is in a name? Honour, fame, status… notoriety. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, knows them all, and most recently has been trying to cope with the connotations that his name brings to mind. He is not a liar, he says. He is here to tell the truth. In an exclusive, exhilarating interview, Harry Potter, now 15, reveals all the important and shocking details about the mysterious events of last year’s Triwizard Tournament –– and how he saw with his very eyes the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Next to the introduction was an uncomfortably large picture of Harry Potter, blinking in an unprepared manner as the camera lights flashed in his round glasses over and over again. Astoria chose not to read aloud the caption beneath the photograph which read, “ _Harry Potter_ , _the disturbed teenage survivor of You_ - _Know_ - _Who_ ’ _s attacks_.” She turned the page and found a subtitle –– “The Murder of Cedric Diggory.” In a text inset was a poignant portrait of the victim, posed and smiling. Astoria held the magazine so that the other girls could see it. Flora and Hestia nodded solemnly; Rhiannon was still staring at the ceiling. Astoria continued.

> “It was the twenty-fourth of June. Harry Potter had been miraculously chosen to be the fourth Triwizard Champion the previous October, along with Miss Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons, Viktor Krum of Durmstrang, and the late Cedric Diggory. The third and final Task of the competition would decide the winner of the competition and would forever change the lives of all who were involved. Harry Potter recalls in this interview all the painful, traumatic events which unfolded.
> 
> “Rita Skeeter (RS): How was the Third Task set up?
> 
> “Harry Potter (HP): We were all going into a maze that had been created on the [Hogwarts] Quidditch pitch. Four teachers were outside the maze, and in case of emergencies, we would send red sparks in the air. Whoever got to the Triwizard Cup first would win the Task.
> 
> “RS: Did you have a chance to send red sparks to announce Cedric was in danger?
> 
> “HP: No. Cedric and I weren’t anywhere near Hogwarts when it happened.
> 
> “RS: You left the maze?
> 
> “HP: We were transported out of the maze. We were transported to Little Hangleton.
> 
> “RS: You mean the place where You-Know-Who’s family hailed?
> 
> “HP: Yes.
> 
> “RS: What do you remember about the task?
> 
> “HP: Well, we were in the maze and had all separated. We were trying to find the Cup. It was really easy to get lost. There were challenges within the maze… boggarts and a sphinx and a lot of other things… I heard Fleur get hurt, but I couldn’t see anything. I met up with Cedric in the maze, and we said we had both heard her. I kept running, but I ran back into Cedric again. He was with Krum. Krum attacked Cedric with the Cruciatus Curse.
> 
> “RS: Viktor Krum! He _did_?
> 
> “HP: No, that’s not what I’m getting at. I found out later that Krum was under the Imperius Curse when he did that. Krum is innocent. He’s completely innocent.
> 
> “RS: How was it permitted to put the Champions under the Imperius Curse and to make them use the Cruciatus Curse? Whoever sanctioned that should be imprisoned, correct?
> 
> “HP: That’s what I was wondering. But it wasn’t anyone involved with the Tournament. It was a Death Eater.
> 
> “RS: So this is when strange things started happening.
> 
> “HP: Right. We knocked out Krum and sent red sparks so someone could pick him up. We went on separately again, met up… Then Cedric and I were attacked by an Acromantula. We could see the Cup from where we were, and I told him to take it since I had a bleeding wound. But he didn’t because I had saved him a couple of times in the Tasks. I wouldn’t take it because he had saved me, too.
> 
> “Harry Potter became extremely saddened as he relived that fateful night, and had to be supported by his friends, who were present as he continued the tragic tale.
> 
> “HP: We made a deal to take the Cup at the same time, to win for Hogwarts. To tie. Cedric dragged me up to where the Cup was and we both took it on either side. It was a Portkey. We didn’t know. It wasn’t supposed to be.
> 
> “RS: This Portkey was what took you out of the maze? And to Little Hangleton?
> 
> “Harry Potter answered with a quiet nod and took a slow drink.
> 
> “HP: We were in a graveyard. We had no idea what was happening. We saw something coming toward us, holding something small and deformed. I was in pain, and I heard this awful voice –– it said ‘Kill the spare.’ ‘Kill the spare,’ it said. I saw the green light of the Killing Curse and I saw that Cedric had been murdered right next to me.
> 
> “RS: It is such a tragedy. Who had cast the curse?
> 
> “Harry Potter, eyes glinting with tears and glowing with fury, said, ‘It was Peter Pettigrew.’
> 
> **“HARRY POTTER SEES SLAIN MAN LIVING. ACCUSES PETTIGREW AS TRUE BETRAYER OF PARENTS, MASS MURDERER, AND KILLER OF CEDRIC DIGGORY.**
> 
> “Harry Potter has released astounding information regarding the 1981 massacre of twelve Muggles. What the public remembers about it, he says, is the opposite of reality. Upon extensive questioning, Potter revealed crucial information about what he says happened between Peter Pettigrew and convicted criminal Sirius Black. According to Harry Potter, here is what the public needs to know:

  * “You-Know-Who wished to kill the Potter family after hearing that they were a threat to them. Harry Potter’s slain parents, James and Lily Potter, knew this, and went into hiding. Only their trusted friends knew their location. One was Sirius Black, the other, Peter Pettigrew.
  * “Peter Pettigrew, not Sirius Black, soon betrayed James and Lily Potter by revealing their location to You-Know-Who. Harry Potter said that Pettigrew did this out of cowardice once You-Know-Who had come to him for information.
  * “You-Know-Who then attacked and killed Mr and Mrs Potter. He attempted to kill the infant Harry, but instead was inexplicably destroyed. Harry Potter survived the Killing Curse.
  * “Sirius Black subsequently found out about Pettigrew’s betrayal and meant to track him down. He found him amongst Muggles. Pettigrew made his famous announcement that Black was the betrayer during this confrontation.
  * “Pettigrew was the first to draw his wand as he tried to make an escape and frame Black. He used the Blasting Curse to destroy the area behind him, making it look like Black had been the one to strike. The blast resulted in the death of twelve innocent Muggle bystanders.
  * “Black then drew his wand. Pettigrew moved swiftly and cut off his own finger to make it look like he had been killed in the blast.
  * “Pettigrew, an unregistered Animagus, took the form of a rat and made his escape, leaving Black to be arrested and charged with all of Pettigrew’s crimes.
  * “Pettigrew remained in Animagus form for twelve years and disguised himself as a Hogwarts pet. He was just like a normal rat apart from the fact that his life span was unusually long.
  * “In early June of 1994, Pettigrew had become exposed as an Animagus –– living and guilty. His story was revealed as he was trying to flee from Hogsmeade after he had been forced out of Animagus form and discovered. Eyewitnesses include students Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and instructors Remus Lupin and Severus Snape.
  * “Pettigrew escaped and returned to You-Know-Who as a Death Eater. Peter Pettigrew was the first Death Eater that Potter saw in Little Hangleton. He approached the boys and, under You-Know-Who’s orders, murdered 17-year-old Cedric Diggory.”



Astoria drew in a long breath. With her mind numbing and her throat drying, she took a break to get a drink of water. None of the other girls made for the magazine. Flora and Hestia were as still and quiet as they had been at the beginning. Rhiannon had rolled on her side to face the spot where Astoria was sitting. No one said a word. Astoria lifted the magazine to the light again, but after seeing a few horrifying phrases in the upcoming paragraphs, she decided to pass it on to someone else to read. Flora was the one to take it, and continued from where Astoria had stopped.

> “Potter was eager to answer some obvious questions about his highly controversial statements.
> 
> “RS: Do you really believe that Black is innocent of the conspiracy to kill your parents?
> 
> “HP: Yes. He is innocent. Pettigrew was the one who let [You-Know-Who] kill my parents. He admitted it himself. Pettigrew was the one who killed twelve Muggles. Not Sirius.
> 
> “RS: You are aware that Black is at large and is being hunted for as one of the most dangerous criminals of the Wizarding community? Even Muggles have been informed of him.
> 
> “HP: Yes. They should be searching for Pettigrew instead.
> 
> “RS: Do you know anything about your godfather’s whereabouts?
> 
> “HP: No, I don’t.
> 
> “RS: Is there a chance that you could have been Confunded, or attacked with a Memory Charm, or had this information planted in your head?
> 
> “HP: No. There are four other people who know this happened. Everybody knows about the attack on the Muggles, but the problem is that everyone knows them the _opposite_ of how they actually happened.
> 
> “RS: Do you think the public will accept this story about Black and Pettigrew?
> 
> “HP: If they’re willing to accept the truth.
> 
> **THE TERRIFYING RETURN**
> 
> **OF HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED**
> 
> “Harry Potter began to understand his situation after seeing his schoolmate killed. Pettigrew had taken Potter, shocked and wounded, to the gravestone of Tom Riddle Sr, You-Know-Who’s Muggle father, and had bound him to it. A massive cauldron appeared before him and was lit with a fire underneath.
> 
> “RS: What was in the cauldron?
> 
> “HP: Lava. Or something like fire. The liquid inside was smoking and sparking and crystallising. I saw this, and then Pettigrew took the bundle and took off the covers. It was like a … child made of raw meat. It was scaly and wet and had red eyes, and I’ve never seen anything more horrifying. And I’ve, er, seen some things.
> 
> “RS: What _was_ this creature?
> 
> “HP: It was [You-Know-Who]. He had not had a body in about fourteen years. And Wormtail dropped the thing into the cauldron.
> 
> “RS: Who is Wormtail?
> 
> “HP: That’s Pettigrew. [You-Know-Who] and the Death Eaters were calling him that because of his Animagus form. He had that nickname in school.
> 
> “RS: I see. What happened to the creature after it was put in the cauldron?
> 
> “HP: There was some sort of a ritual. Wormtail unearthed bone particles from the ground beneath me. He said something about using the ‘bone of the father’ to put in the cauldron. Then the stuff in the cauldron turned blue, and Wormtail cut off his whole right hand. That was the one with the finger he had cut off before. I heard him scream, and the hand fell into the cauldron. The mixture turned red and lit up… I’d say it lit up the whole area. And then Wormtail came at me with a dagger and sliced me in the bend of my arm. He took my blood. I’ll never forget what he said. It was, ‘Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.’ I was scared out of my mind and bleeding all over. And then… I saw… it was [You-Know-Who] coming out of the cauldron.
> 
> “RS: The ritual was prepared by Pettigrew to raise him? He brought you there for your blood?
> 
> “HP: Yes, and there was a Death Eater involved with the Portkey.
> 
> “RS: Who was the other?
> 
> “HP: If I tell you now, it won’t make sense. It has to be done chronologically.
> 
> “Harry Potter wiped the sweat from his forehead and started to slouch, recalling the unworldly imagery of the night of You-Know-Who’s return that could not be put into words.”

“Rhiannon, you can leave if you must,” Flora said, breaking away from the report.

Astoria did not want to move in fear that she might exacerbate her nausea, but she glanced toward Rhiannon, who was trembling horribly as she lay on her bed. Her face was red; her eyes were shut.

“You can’t have expected the resurrection of You-Know-Who to have been pretty,” Flora said matter-of-factly. “Personally, I’m surprised it didn’t involve more blood.”

“Flora, shut it,” Hestia scolded.

“Go on with the article. I’m just being stupid,” uttered Rhiannon, and before Astoria and Hestia could assure her that she was not stupid, Flora continued reading.

> **“HARRY POTTER HEARS YOU-KNOW-WHO’S FIRST ADDRESS,**
> 
> **ACCUSES DEATH EATERS PRESENT AT GRAVEYARD**
> 
> “HP: [You-Know-Who] was walking in front of me. He took Wormtail by the arm and touched his Dark Mark to summon all the Death Eaters.
> 
> “RS: Did the Dark Mark appear in the sky like it did during the Quidditch World Cup?
> 
> “HP: No, but he said the Death Eaters would be able to feel it on their arms when he touched Wormtail’s. He was walking around and waiting for the Death Eaters, and he told me that he had killed his own father, and that I was sitting on that man’s grave. He didn’t talk to Wormtail very much, but he was talking to me a lot.
> 
> “RS: A frightening experience in itself, I’m sure. What did he say to you?
> 
> “HP: He told me his mother fell in love with a Muggle, but the Muggle abandoned her when he found out she was a witch. [You-Know-Who] said she named him after his father and died after his birth. He said he wanted to kill his father for a long time and just talked about that for a bit.
> 
> “RS: So his memories immediately came back to him upon his revival?
> 
> “HP: Well, I don’t think they ever left him. He could talk without a full body. He talked to his servants and gave them orders, so his mind must have been there all this time somehow.
> 
> “RS: And now his body is, too.
> 
> “HP: Yes. The Death Eaters showed up soon after. They arranged themselves in a particular order… I don’t think it was alphabetical. Then Voldemort used some sort of a spell to give Wormtail a magical new hand. It’s silver, or at least it’s silver-coloured.
> 
> “RS: The Death Eaters that showed up are obviously not those incarcerated. Are you saying that there are Death Eaters who roam free?
> 
> “HP: Yeah, there were about thirty of them there, plus Wormtail. [You-Know-Who] said there were others who weren’t in prison and weren’t there. Like they avoided the call.
> 
> “RS: Can you name all of those who were present?
> 
> “HP: I couldn’t see them because of their masks, and most didn’t speak, so I can only name six of them. There was Walden Macnair, a man named Avery, Edgar Crabbe and Samuel Goyle, a man named Nott, and Lucius Malfoy.
> 
> “RS: Walden Macnair and Lucius Malfoy are with the Ministry, Mr Potter!
> 
> “HP: Yeah, they’re also with [You-Know-Who].
> 
> “RS: Are you sure of this?
> 
> “HP: Yes. [You-Know-Who] said their names aloud, and I could recognise their voices.
> 
> “RS: What happened next?
> 
> “HP: Well, [You-Know-Who] yelled at them for a while for not seeking him out. He gave a pretty long speech about… well, he said he was incorporeal for a long time and settled in a forest for a Death Eater to help him. He told the Death Eaters that Quirinus Quirrell had brought him back to Great Britain, and that Wormtail came to help him restore his powers. He said they went to hide in an Albanian forest in 1994. Wormtail abducted Bertha Jorkins there.
> 
> “RS: You said Quirinus Quirrell, who used to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts?
> 
> “HP: Yes.
> 
> “RS: And Bertha Jorkins, the Ministry worker who went missing?
> 
> “HP: Exactly. They tortured information out of her.
> 
> “RS: What information?
> 
> “HP: She told them all about the Triwizard Tournament, and she told them that she knew there was still another Death Eater out there who would help him. Then they killed her. He told the Death Eaters about how they planned to make the potion that would bring him back. He made up… er, a less than succinct plan… He wanted to make me touch a Portkey that would bring me to where his father was buried so they would have all the ingredients.
> 
> “RS: And what was the plan?
> 
> “HP: To put my name into the Goblet of Fire and make sure I grabbed the Cup.
> 
> “RS: You never put your name in?
> 
> “HP: No, and it wasn’t an accident, either. [You-Know-Who] wanted it to happen. And he wanted to kill me afterward.
> 
> “RS: But you got away.
> 
> **“POTTER’S FIGHT AGAINST DEATH:**
> 
> **FACE-TO-FACE WITH YOU-KNOW-WHO AGAIN!**
> 
> “‘It’s hard to remember everything about the battle,’ says Harry Potter as he sips timorously from his drink. ‘I was just fighting for my life. It wasn’t quick, but everything went by quickly, I guess.’
> 
> “RS: Did he start attacking you?
> 
> “HP: Actually, he made me formally duel him. He hit me with the Cruciatus Curse before the duel, and first thing during the duel…
> 
> “RS: You were still bleeding in the arm and leg, correct?
> 
> “HP: Yeah, this wasn’t an easy thing.
> 
> “RS: What next?
> 
> “HP: He kept trying to toy with my mind, and he put me under the Imperius Curse. I fought that off. I jumped away from him to hide behind a gravestone. He found me and shouted the Killing Curse when I said the Disarming Charm.
> 
> “RS: You Disarmed You-Know-Who?
> 
> “HP: No. What happened was something with the Priori Incantatem. The spells were hitting against each other rather than the targets. Our wands have the same core from the same animal.
> 
> “RS: You can’t be serious!
> 
> “HP: I am, but I didn’t know what it was at first or why it was happening. I heard all sorts of sounds … I saw figures start emerging from [You-Know-Who’s] wand. They were like ghosts, but more solid. Wormtail’s old, severed hand started crawling around. Then I saw Cedric.
> 
> “RS: You saw Cedric’s ghost emerge from the wand!
> 
> “HP: Not the real ghost of Cedric. It was like Cedric’s will and image. This happened because the Priori Incantatem reveals what the wand did previously. So I saw quite a lot of people who were murdered by [You-Know-Who]. I saw Cedric, and an old man, and Bertha Jorkins… They were all talking to me…
> 
> “Harry Potter’s tears finally began to fall as he continued with his incredible story. Tragic and ever-poignant, Potter gathered his bearing and continued…
> 
> “HP: I saw my mother, and she told me I would see Dad soon. I saw him, and he told me that all of these people would fade but that I would have a small amount of time to get back to the Portkey. Cedric told me to grab his body on the way and take it back to his mum and dad. Dad told me when to break away, and I did. I ran … toward Cedric’s body and had to get away from all the Death Eaters who were trying to attack me. I got Cedric; I couldn’t reach the Portkey, and [You-Know-Who] was going to kill me… I Summoned the cup to me and we were transported back to the Quidditch pitch.”

“Merlin, this is sad,” Flora interjected, holding a hand to her mouth. “…And really long.”

“How much is there left?” asked Rhiannon quietly.

“Too much for me,” Flora said.

“Erm, do you want to read it, Rhi?” Hestia asked.

Rhiannon sat up. Her lips parted. Then she lay back down.

“…Bad idea.”

“I guess it’s my turn, then,” Hestia said to herself and picked up the magazine. She did not read as clearly as the other girls had.

> **“THE INFILTRATOR OF HOGWARTS**
> 
> **WORKED TO BRING BACK YOU-KNOW-WHO**
> 
> **WHILST SCHOOL REMAINED UNAWARE.**
> 
> “‘I want to make sure you know that when I say “Moody,” I don’t mean the real Alastor Moody until I tell you that I do,’” Harry Potter said mysteriously as he continued with his interview. ‘The real Alastor Moody never taught us that year even though he was hired to. We all saw an imposter using the Polyjuice Potion.’”

“This kid doesn’t stop!” Hestia exclaimed, interrupting herself.

“Rhiannon asked us not to say anything until the end of the article,” Astoria reminded Hestia, now more eager than ever to hear about the article. Polyjuice Potion… Could that be the person who took her hair?

“Oh, r-right! I’m sorry,” Hestia blubbered before returning to her narration.

> “RS: How did you find this out?
> 
> “HP: Well, I was lying on the Quidditch pitch after we got back. I could hardly move. Professor Dumbledore came over with the Minister and saw that Cedric was dead. I tried to tell them [You-Know-Who] was back. There was a lot going on. I was taken away from the scene by Moody –– not the actual Moody.
> 
> “RS: When did you find out it wasn’t the real Alastor Moody?
> 
> “HP: I didn’t know for a while… He was acting so weird. He asked me all about [You-Know-Who’s] rebirth and then told me he had put my name in the Goblet of Fire. He said he resented the Death Eaters who didn’t help [You-Know-Who] after he fell. He said that he had been helping him this whole time to get me to the graveyard. He said he paved the way for my victory in the Tournament so that I’d get the Cup. He said he was the one who Stunned Fleur in the maze and Imperiused Krum. He told me he was going to kill me to outshine all the Death Eaters and become a son to [You-Know-Who].
> 
> “RS: You thought this was Alastor Moody all that time?
> 
> “HP: I swear he never acted that way all year. Everyone was fooled. Even Moody’s friends thought it was really Moody. _I_ still thought it was the real Moody. I thought he was a Death Eater.
> 
> “RS: But it really was a Death Eater disguised as Alastor Moody, you say?
> 
> “HP: Yes. It was not Moody.
> 
> “RS: And this wizard was going to kill you.
> 
> “HP: Yes. But Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape came to save me and Stunned him. They saw that this man had started to act strange and had spirited me away. Professor Dumbledore told the others to get Veritaserum and a house-elf.
> 
> “RS: A house-elf, you say?
> 
> “HP: It was the Death Eater’s old house-elf. Professor Dumbledore took keys from Moody’s coat and unlocked a massive trunk –– it had six or seven parts to it –– and the last one had an Extension Charm in it. The real Moody was in the last one. He had been Imperiused. His hair was missing because it was put into the Polyjuice Potion. His glass eye and leg were on the Death Eater. And the fake Moody’s Polyjuice Potion was wearing off.
> 
> **“THE FAKING OF A DEATH, THE MURDER OF A FATHER.**
> 
> **THE IMPOSTER’S IDENTITY REVEALED.**

“Oh, there’s a picture,” Hestia said and held up the magazine for all to see.

Astoria saw the mug shot of a young wizard about twenty years old. It, like the other photographs, was in vibrant, lifelike colour. He had flaxen hair, which was messed up considerably, and a heavily freckled face. He was gulping but was not blinking –– not once did he blink. He was staring inscrutably with irises of liquid, of black ink, and Astoria had to look away after only a moment. She gasped heavily as she moved her eyes away from the picture and met the very same stare from her other side, coming from Rhiannon. Rhiannon heard the noise and blinked. Astoria was getting chilled. She looked at the page once more to read the caption, and it made it all worse.

**“ _Bartemius J_. _Crouch_ , _Jr_ , _3 December_ _1981_. _Convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom_.”**

Astoria heard Hestia turning the page, and out of a painful impulse, told the girl to give her a moment before reading more. Rhiannon fell back on her tear-stained pillow. Astoria jumped from the bed in a torrent of bewilderment. Her hands were at the sides of her head and she began to walk round the little room, trying to slow her thoughts… trying not to remember the things that would piece together a puzzle… a puzzle that Astoria did not want put together…

December… _December_ … There was something about _that_ month and _that_ person, and Astoria knew it –– at least she knew it now.

“Hestia, keep reading,” Astoria said, changing her mind. If she was listening to Harry Potter, she couldn’t be listening to herself. Why had a Death Eater taken _her_ form, too?

> “RS: Who was this Death Eater who had compromised Hogwarts?
> 
> “HP: It was Barty Crouch Jr.
> 
> “RS: Crouch Jr is _dead_ , boy!
> 
> “HP: He wasn’t. Snape pointed him out when he and Professor McGonagall came back. The house-elf said his name immediately. The Ministry covered this all up, if you haven’t noticed.
> 
> “RS: Do tell me how you saw this dead man living.
> 
> “HP: Well, Snape gave him the Veritaserum, and the Headmaster asked him the questions. He told us how he faked his death. After his father convicted him, his mother pleaded to have him released. She said she would take Crouch Jr’s place since she was already very sick. They both used Polyjuice Potions. She looked like her son, and he looked like her. The dementors didn’t catch on. Mrs Crouch died under the Polyjuice Potion’s effects, and they buried her thinking she was her son. Crouch Sr took his son home and faked his wife’s death, since Crouch Jr still looked like her. He told us his father put him under the Imperius Curse, hid him under an Invisibility Cloak, and made the house-elf take care of him. The house-elf, who was there as he was telling us this, liked him and wanted to take him to the Quidditch World Cup. Crouch Sr agreed as long as he would still be Imperiused and hidden. But the riots happened, and Crouch Jr got a chance to break free when he was hit with a spell by Ministry workers. He was the one who cast the Dark Mark in the sky. Crouch Sr got rid of the house-elf. Crouch Jr was the Death Eater that Bertha Jorkins told [You-Know-Who] about. She had accidentally come across him whilst at the Crouch house. [You-Know-Who] came to get him shortly after and had him attack Alastor Moody along with Wormtail. Crouch Jr took a Polyjuice Potion to become Moody and get me to the graveyard.
> 
> “RS: What happened to Mr Crouch from the Ministry? He was in charge of the Triwizard Tournament. Did he know about his son?
> 
> “HP: He knew his son got away from him, yeah. He didn’t know he was impersonating Moody or corrupting the Tournament. Crouch Jr said [You-Know-Who] put the Imperius Curse on his father, so Crouch Sr didn’t show up for the Second or Third Tasks. Crouch Sr broke free from it in May and ran to Hogwarts to confess what had happened, but Crouch Jr intercepted him.
> 
> “RS: And he caught his father?
> 
> “HP: He killed his father, and he transfigured the whole body into one bone. He buried it on the grounds. That was the end of his confession.
> 
> “RS: Was he arrested after that?
> 
> “HP: No. Professor Dumbledore sent Snape to get Madam Pomfrey and Fudge, told Professor McGonagall to guard Crouch, and took me to his office to talk about [You-Know-Who’s] return. Then I went to the hospital wing and fell asleep.
> 
> “RS: The day was finally over.
> 
> “HP: No. I was stirred by yelling. It was Professor McGonagall and Fudge. She was yelling at him for bringing a dementor into the school.
> 
> “RS: A government dementor?
> 
> “HP: Exactly. A government dementor, which are all trained to Kiss anyone who escapes Azkaban. Crouch had been Kissed immediately, so he couldn’t testify. Fudge didn’t care because he was going to cover everything up anyway.
> 
> “RS: None have ever heard of anything in your interview because of that supposed cover-up, I assume?
> 
> “HP: Right; of everyone in the hospital wing that night, only Fudge did not believe that [You-Know-Who] was back. And because he’s the Minister, the general population doesn’t believe it now. But it happened. He’s back. He let the Death Eaters out of Azkaban.
> 
> “Harry Potter sighed deeply in his frustration –– he is a boy who knows it all but has not been regarded. With a furrow in his brow, he relived the horrifying tale of You-Know-Who’s return to power. ‘That is _the_ whole story,’ he said with certainty, and ended his shocking interview.” ¨

“ _Pheeew_ ,” Hestia exhaled and shut the magazine. “That was possibly the most confusing thing I have ever read in my life.”

“You haven’t read law,” said Flora.

“Do you think Alecto and Amycus were with that lot in the graveyard?” Hestia asked her sister determinedly.

“They had to have been,” Flora said, “or they would’ve been dead by now.”

“That’s too bad,” growled Hestia.

The twins continued chatting all about the interview and their thoughts on it. They shared stories about their second year, when Sirius Black had first escaped… how they were not sure to believe the bit about Peter Pettigrew… how they were not sure if they could believe any of it…

Rhiannon had taken out her scrapbook.

“Give me the magazine, please, if you don’t want to keep it,” she whispered to Astoria, who slipped it away from Hestia’s knee and passed it over.

Rhiannon was barely able to fit it in one of the plastic sleeves. She then turned the bulky book over and opened the back cover. The twins kept talking; she flinched at some of their words. She placed a hand atop a makeshift box that had been attached to the back cover of the scrapbook. Something made Astoria feel like she did not want to see what was inside, but Rhiannon pulled it right out. Whatever it was, it was broken. Rhiannon held it by a jagged edge. It was metallic and glinted in the light. Rhiannon lifted it up and waited for the twins to notice. They knew what it was before Astoria did.

“Rhiannon, that’s a Death Eater’s mask!” Hestia exclaimed.

“I figured that bit out, thanks,” Rhiannon said. “And the story is true. I know a good part of it to be true, so I’m assuming the rest is, too. Dunno about the ‘tears glinting’ drama, but the interview is true.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, Rhiannon, but how in the world did you come across that?” Flora demanded.

“You seem to be forgetting that I had detention with Crouch all June. I thought he was Moody. After the disaster of the Third Task, I went to the room again. It was being cleared out. Moody’s things were in one group, and Crouch’s were in the other. This mask… broke. I took it as proof.”

“Oh, yeah…” said Hestia. “We found you in the room again when you went missing. You were… not doing well. I’m sorry, Rhiannon… We didn’t know.”

“I… yeah… Thanks.”

“Rhiannon,” Astoria broke in as her unwanted thoughts began to flood her skull again.

She jumped to the other bed as if she was going to be able to escape something. She did not know what she expected Rhiannon to do, but Rhiannon was the only other one who might have been thinking along her lines.

Rhiannon looked surprised when she saw Astoria up close.

“You’re shaking,” Rhiannon noticed and wrapped the blanket she had been holding over Astoria’s shoulders.

“It wasn’t Moody,” Astoria said, hoping that Rhiannon would read her mind, would say it for her so that she wouldn’t have to.

Rhiannon wasn’t a very good mind reader.

“Rhi, _Rhi_. The classroom. We weren’t the only ones to get you.”

“…What are you talking about?”

Astoria was going into mental shock as she remembered things from the previous year, remembered things from only a month ago. They were all put into context now. She couldn’t stop them no matter how hard she tried.

“Rhiannon, the morning after the breakout…”

Rhiannon’s body swayed back a little. She was getting it. Why wasn’t she _saying_ anything?

“The house-elf with chocolate… Rhi! The house-elf! With _chocolate_! Asking where––!”

“I know, Astoria, they…” Rhiannon said, her voice trailing off mid-sentence.

“Should we _leave_?” Flora interrupted, put off by Astoria’s sudden hysteria.

“Yes, you should probably leave right now,” Rhiannon replied a little harshly.

“But––” Hestia protested.

“You shouldn’t _need_ to see her break down, Hestia,” Flora simmered, and prodded her sister out of the room.

“ _You know it_!” Astoria cried and fell onto Rhiannon’s gross, already teary pillow. “ _Why aren’t you saying it, Rhiannon_?”

She rolled over wildly and looked up at the ceiling. There were no star charts above Rhiannon’s bed. It was all bare stone. Astoria looked into nothingness and screeched in her emotion. What simply couldn’t be true before _had_ to be true now. The puzzle was put together. That so-called relative that Sinistra was visiting in Azkaban was Crouch Jr, the Death Eater. Professor Sinistra loved Bartemius Crouch Jr so much that she wouldn’t even leave his split body and soul alone in Azkaban.

“Rhiannon, that Death Eater took my hair and went right up to Professor Sinistra and cried all over her! That Death Eater danced with her at the Yule Ball as Moody!”

“…You think so?” Rhiannon scratched her ear.

“Rhiannon, you know this is true!”

The dates were matching up now, too. Faraway dates that Astoria would have forgotten if it hadn’t been for the interview started to write themselves on a mental calendar. Professor Sinistra had started the previous year contently enough, but in the autumn she had developed a hostile air. There was someone there whom she would not have wanted to see, Bartemius Crouch Sr. But, as the interview said, he was gone before the Second Task. Professor Sinistra was happy in winter. Some said she could be heard complaining with Moody about potatoes of all things at the Yule Ball…

 _She couldn_ ’ _t have known_ , Astoria begged. _She didn_ ’ _t know until afterward_.

“How did _you_ know last month?” Astoria asked Rhiannon.

“Well,” Rhiannon said, “I walked into the room where Crouch had been Kissed last year. Sinistra was going through everything and sorting his items from the real Moody’s. I… I had sort of known Moody, I thought, so when she told me he was in the hospital wing, I was gonna go there and visit him. That’s when she was sort of forced to tell me what happened, since Moody wouldn’t know who I was. As in, he would _never_ know who I was. And she told quite a bit, so...”

 _No_. _No_. _Professor Sinistra had nothing to do with these plans_. _She wasn_ ’ _t involved_. _Please tell me she wasn_ ’ _t involved_.

“I got this mask of his when she flung it across the room and broke it. She was crying a lot. She could barely tell me what happened. I don’t think she wanted to believe it. I wouldn’t, either.”

“You mean she was upset when she found out? She didn’t know?” Astoria pleaded. “She didn’t know it wasn’t me when he took my hair? She didn’t know it wasn’t the real Moody?”

“Hell no, she didn’t know!” Rhiannon said, taken aback. “She must’ve sputtered on about this for an hour, Astoria. She looked like she belonged in St Mungo’s, not in Hogwarts clearin’ out the man’s effects. But she was the only one who’d be able to pick out whose things was whose besides Moody. Blimey, Astoria, why do you think she battled those Death Eaters in the prison? She hates ’em all. They committed the same crime he supposedly did –– I researched this whole case in the library, I did. You know she calls You-Know-Who by his name‽”

Astoria sighed with relief and chastised herself for jumping to conclusions. It had always been a bad habit of hers, but she had been scared mindless from the notion that her favourite professor had helped bring You-Know-Who back…

“Lot of things would’ve made sense earlier if I’d known _where_ it was she was going,” Rhiannon mumbled. “But I didn’t know till the paper said so. I really thought she had cancer, too.”

“But you knew she loved him after she was trying to cast a Patronus in the Hospiral Wing?”

“I didn’t know; I just kinda figured.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been sick over this Polyjuice thing.”

“I couldn’t. How was I s’posed to explain everything like that magazine did? I didn’t even know what the plans about Harry were. All I knew’s what Sinistra told me, and all of that was about Crouch.”

“She told you because you were going to see Moody in the hospital wing, right? Do you think she told anyone else who might have visited him?”

“I don’t think anybody else did. They always thought he was a scary old geezer.”

“So we’re the only ones who know about her and Crouch?”

“Student-wise, probably. We’re the only ones who pay attention to her enough. I’m sure the teachers know, though. I know Snape knows. He was going through his papers with her. And probably her friend Glenda Chittock. And probably anyone who was alive at that time… Wow… Y’know she’s seen him die twice now, if you think about it…”

Astoria recalled the professor chanting the Patronus Charm and understood that she had seen much worse than his death. Harry Potter had said that Professor McGonagall had been in charge of watching Crouch on the night that You-Know-Who returned. Astoria wondered if Professor Sinistra could forgive Professor McGonagall for being too weakened by the dementor to stop it from Kissing Crouch. She wondered if Professor Sinistra had forgiven Crouch for two of the worst crimes of the century.

Astoria readjusted the blanket around her and began to think. Of all the people Astoria knew, Professor Sinistra was possibly one of the noblest. Yet she loved someone so low, so abhorrent –– a Death Eater, and more. She loved a _fanatical_ Death Eater who had actually wished to be considered a son of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Was this always his ambition? Did Professor Sinistra know him before he was like that?

“It seems so strange…” Astoria said dazedly, “…that Professor Sinistra would still go visit him… all hollow… Especially after knowing what he _did_.”

Rhiannon said candidly, “She loves him. They must have been together before all this.”

“But… _all day_ , Rhiannon,” Astoria said in distress. “Dementors everywhere! And she still went every single day to see… this soulless body…”

“I don’t think that was it,” Rhiannon said darkly. “I read all about dementors. I read how they’re used in Azkaban. Inside the prison, they stay by the doors of each ward in the day and patrol the wards at night. Visitors, however rare they are, aren’t the ones who get trouble from the dementors, and she was mostly there in the day.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying she wouldn’t’ve been _nearly_ as sick as she was if she was sittin’ by the empty body instead of sittin’ by the door of the hospice ward. She didn’t go there to visit a vegetable, Astoria, she went there to visit his soul. And when his soul finally passed on, that’s why you weren’t Confunded anymore.”

Astoria felt her stomach lurch. She put her cold hands on her cheeks and tried to ease her strain. It felt like she would not be able to move any more if her life depended on it.

“She sat next to the dementor that Fudge sent after him,” Astoria groaned. “Oh, God, Rhiannon –– why? Why all of this for a _Death Eater_ ‽”

“She loves him,” Rhiannon said again, so indecently calmly.

“A Death Eater!” Astoria wept. “She isn’t anything like a Death Eater!”

“Neither was he,” said Rhiannon steadily.

“What are you on about, Rhi?” Astoria said angrily.

“People become Death Eaters because of their belief system or their fear. Crouch became a Death Eater because he wanted to be with You-Know-Who as a family. It’s weird, but I don’t think he fitted in with those Death Eaters at all. He told Harry he hated them because they weren’t really in it for You-Know-Who. Crouch probably thought about blood-purity as much as Sinistra does. What he wanted was a father.”

“Nonsense!” Astoria heard herself expel.

“I’m serious, Astoria. He told me his father neglected him. ’Course, I was left thinking Alastor Moody’s father was a horrible person. I told him about my parents, too. We talked a lot about life… it was weird. It all was kind of weird. Detention ended up not being detention after a week. He was nice to me. Then he was gone. I went to the classroom again because I was so stunned. Sinistra was there, a proper mess. She told me he was Barty Crouch Jr –– seemed to have trouble calling him that, she did, for some reason. I guess she had called him by whatever his middle name was when she knew him. He probably hated having his dad’s name. Well, she told me I deserved to know the story because…”

Rhiannon trailed off and her face went blank. Astoria was too exhausted to ask her to continue, but she did muster the power to keep listening.

“Because he probably would’ve wanted me to know,” Rhiannon continued mournfully.

Astoria let out a stream of breath. How could she believe that? Rhiannon was a Muggle-born. This was the man who helped bring back the evil thing that wanted to massacre her kind! Rhiannon was taking these words from Professor Sinistra, who, at the moment, was not a very credible source at all in Astoria’s opinion. Rhiannon could have been in much more danger than she thought she had been. Astoria couldn’t have her grieving over this Death Eater. Look at where that put Professor Sinistra.

“Rhiannon, I don’t think––” she started to say, but the other girl cut her off.

“I told him I wanted to play Quidditch,” Rhiannon said, making desperate hand gestures. “I told him I didn’t have a broom. Guess what Sinistra got me, a broom. We related on some level!”

“Rhiannon, that’s too _weird_ ––”

“Professor Sinistra must have had some chance to talk to him before he got Kissed. That’s how she saw the dementor attack him.”

“All right, but––”

“He was delusional, and he thought he could spare me, Astoria.”

“I’ll say he was delusional! Rhiannon, listen, I’m upset at… Well, I’m upset at Professor Sinistra, okay? This isn’t really about you. I’m sorry that you had to go through this pain. I feel betrayed! She’s my favourite teacher. That is all. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“You shouldn’t be upset at her is what I’m trying to tell you,” Rhiannon said, calming down. “Whoever he was _before_ he was a Death Eater was who she loved. It’s pretty clear to me that _she_ was betrayed by him. He went to You-Know-Who first when he was freed from his father, not her.”

Rhiannon put her hands to her face and took a deep breath.

“He put me under the Imperius Curse to keep me away from the Third Task,” she whispered. “He made me splash my drink on Malfoy so I’d get in trouble. So I’d be in the castle, safe. I’m Muggle-born, Astoria. I’m Muggle-born. That’s the magic that left me that night his soul finally passed on, the kind of magic that’d keep me out of danger without me even knowing. Now I’m not safe no more.”

Astoria’s mouth was dry again, but she was too depressed to lift her drink to her face. She remembered the man’s blank stare from the picture, but she also remembered it on Alastor Moody’s phizog –– when the magical eye didn’t move and he was telling Astoria to look after Rhiannon. Their fathers never looked after them.

Astoria did not want to feel sad about Barty Crouch Jr, and she didn’t. But she knew that something must have gone horribly, horribly wrong with the man whom Professor Sinistra loved. That love continued, however damaged it might have been on its shell. Rhiannon was right; it wasn’t the professor’s fault for still caring about him, just as it wasn’t her fault that he became a Death Eater. Professor Sinistra didn’t love the Death Eater; she loved the person she knew he used to be. Astoria could barely fathom what it must have been like for the young professor to find out what he truly was. Professor Sinistra might have even _wished_ she didn’t love him anymore, but love was a painfully powerful thing.


	17. Bloodthirst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is the chapter with a content warning for blood. Umbridge's bloody quill is a problem. There is indirect self-harm because of the quill. Mentions of past child abuse.  
> ~  
> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 17 - "When I Was Young" by The Animals

Rhiannon had not known the feeling of being relaxed for a long time, but she did feel relieved that the students at last knew the story that Fudge had covered up. At least they knew most of it.

It was only one day after the infiltration of Hogwarts had become common knowledge. Whilst the other teachers were visibly frustrated by the fact that they could not address the students about Harry’s interview, Professor Sinistra seemed grateful for the first time that Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six existed. She had been taking long walks round the castle all day, her good arm’s hand clutching a heavy shawl over her shoulders, but she had only roused mild interest in the students. After all, they had not read about the 1981 Longbottom case in the library newspaper archives as Rhiannon had. They had not noticed that every time Crouch Jr’s wife was mentioned, her name had been magically erased from the school’s copies. The only thing that seemed strange to the other students was that a clumsy, bulb-nosed house-elf had been following the woman all day.

It was after a successful Transfiguration lesson that Rhiannon and Astoria finally crossed paths with Professor Sinistra in a normal setting. She was sitting in the recess of a window with the house-elf asleep in her lap. The other students were passing by the area quite noisily, but the house-elf did not awaken. Rhiannon, with her concern for fauna of all sorts, slowed down, and Astoria kept by her side whilst the twins inadvertently continued walking with the larger group. The corridor soon became quiet, and when Rhiannon checked for any signs of Umbridge, she found the coast clear. She was about to ask if the house-elf was all right, but the little creature proved herself alive by wiggling in her sleep and scratching her ear. It left the girls standing there with nothing said, and the professor noticed their presence. Rhiannon could not very well describe Sinistra’s face in that moment. She had lifted her head, saw the two girls, and quickly resumed looking out of the window. “I know that you know,” she seemed to say through a sigh, and Rhiannon wondered if Astoria had made any faces at the teacher during her Astronomy class the previous night.

“It’s not like that,” Rhiannon wanted to say. She didn’t want Professor Sinistra to think that they were there to stare her down, to make something that was terrible even worse. If only there were some words that Rhiannon could throw in the air… Some way of telling the professor that after finding out all these things by some twist of fate, she didn’t think less of her.

“…Is it snowing?” Professor Sinistra whispered, squinting through the foggy window.

Rhiannon inched closer with Astoria at her elbow. She stretched the sleeve of her robe over her hand and wiped a patch of the window clean. The Middle Courtyard was wet and green, longing for spring, but winter had not yet given up. The snow fell delicately, almost indistinguishably from a drizzle, but the clouds were pale, and not a fleck of grey rain was in them.

“Yup,” Rhiannon answered nervously, for she realised that she had probably crowded Sinistra as she leaned into the recess in the window.

Professor Sinistra had caught her in the eyes, and Rhiannon was not sure if the chill she felt was from the window or from the stare. The professor then slowly moved her eyes over Rhiannon’s shoulder, and out of pure instinct, Rhiannon turned. There were holes carved into the stone by the window, holes of all sizes, and Rhiannon did not know what to make of them. However, Astoria, who had peeked over Rhiannon’s shoulder, certainly did. She took out her wand and began to connect the perforations with glowing red lines.

“Oh –– you can wand-write now?” Rhiannon asked.

“Er, Draco helped me,” Astoria replied softly.

Her eyes remained fixed on the curious conundrum by the window until it was filled in.

“Corona Borealis and Corona Australis,” she identified at the same time that Rhiannon had begun to recognise that the holes made up a pair of constellations. “The Northern and Southern Crowns.”

“Ten points to Slytherin,” the professor said with a fleeting smile.

Rhiannon and Astoria moved back from the window. In the faint light from the red lines, they could see that at the bottom right corner of the images was a carved pair of letters: “ _J_ \+ _A_.”

“We had to do a huge project in our seventh year,” Sinistra said reminiscently, “and the other kids took all the good constellations. They talked louder than us –– you know. We ended up liking these ones nevertheless, as, as you can see. He went by Jonah whenever possible.”

Rhiannon nodded and hoped that Astoria was at least listening politely to the professor. Surprisingly, she was. Rhiannon saw Astoria bite her lip. Professor Sinistra looked at the window once more even though it had fogged again.

“I’m so sorry, professor,” Astoria said, and was moved to repeat, “I’m so sorry.”

The professor furrowed her brow over her wet eyes and said softly, “I am the one who is sorry. I am sorry it happened so close to you.”

The professor sat up abruptly, and Rhiannon watched the red lines on the wall fade. A moment more, and the constellations and initials had vanished completely with a non-verbal charm.

“Go now.”

Astoria somehow felt that she needed to know _why_ they needed to go right then, but Rhiannon took her by the arm and walked away without question. They walked briskly but were careful to keep their footsteps from echoing, and they had made it to the Entrance Hall when they heard the trill of the High Inquisitor. Rhiannon clenched her jaw and hoped with all of her soul that Umbridge had not heard Professor Sinistra breaking decree twenty-six. She wanted to keep walking, to distance herself from Umbridge as much as possible, but at the same time, she needed to hear what Umbridge was trying to do to Professor Sinistra.

“Go now.”

It seemed to be an echo of Sinistra’s words, distant, yet so fresh in Rhiannon’s mind that she could nearly hear the woman’s voice! She and Astoria kept walking; they walked until they couldn’t be caught doing… well, doing nothing wrong.

~

The students were still forgetting to write “March” on their papers instead of “February” when Umbridge initiated her revolution. Her position was noticeably gaining more power with each decree; it was not a matter of _if_ Umbridge would strike to kill, but when and how. The answer came exactly as Rhiannon was getting a third slice of rhubarb pie. Umbridge, who was wearing a bloated sort of scarf that was precisely the colour of rhubarb, had chased Rhiannon’s Divination teacher down the stairs and into the Entrance Hall. Rhiannon had never cared for Trelawney much, as she reminded her of Muggles who charged people to read their palms and the like. She was honestly curious about why Umbridge had not sacked her sooner. However, after seeing the amount of distress Trelawney was in, Rhiannon felt bad about feeling that way.

The removal of Trelawney seemed to be only slowed by one issue: Umbridge wished to render the woman homeless. No one else would have thrown her out of an immense castle filled with vacant places for her to stay. Headmaster Dumbledore had made quite the entrance from outside at the perfect time, and with a kindly but quick manner, informed the antacid-coloured tyrant that sacked or not sacked, Trelawney would stay in Hogwarts. With all of the fuss that was caused by Umbridge’s squeaking and Trelawney’s bawling, Rhiannon found that the situation was not worth having her pie go cold to watch. Most others felt quite differently; they were either fascinated with the drama or were sending their hearts to Trelawney. Yet when Rhiannon started making her way back through the maze of students, the scene caught her interest.

Rhiannon would have convinced herself that she had been hit with a spell a few years ago. Thanks to Professor Hagrid, though, she was saved from confusion as a centaur entered the school upon Dumbledore’s welcoming. She recognised what species he was from class. Umbridge’s face threatened to outshine even the hue of her scarf as she beheld the approaching centaur, who, if Rhiannon’s ears had not mistaken her, was to be the new Divination professor. Even without the horse’s body on the bottom, the new professor still would have looked quite mystical. The hair on his head was nearly colourless, but a faint shade of the golden colour from his coat revealed itself at certain angles. Even from where Rhiannon was standing, she could see that he had radiating blue eyes, which gave him something of a wintry look when coupled with his pale skin and hide.

“Looks like Draco’s dad is trying to turn over a new leaf after being named in that interview,” said Tracey Davis. “I wonder how long it took him to grow that fur coat.”

Needless to say, Draco Malfoy would be hearing a different variation of that joke each time he tried to go to his Divination class in peace.

With Rhiannon’s birthday quickly approaching, it seemed somewhat slighting that all Astoria would chat about was her family’s upcoming Vernal Equinox celebration. She was receiving letters daily from even her distant family; some had photographs, others, pressed flowers, and some letters folded themselves into origami birds and flew all round the table. All of the letters were heavily perfumed, and Rhiannon noticed that there was a set of sensitive-nosed people who could no longer sit in their vicinity.

“Oh! There will be another marriage this year!” Astoria exclaimed happily after reading a letter that sent not one, but _four_ paper birds flying about the Slytherins’ ears. “Let’s see, I know of Sylvester and Valera… oh, Erez is getting married! Goodness, he’s just nineteen… he must have met the girl after Christmas… not a very long time to be dating… What? It’s Hazel Brown!”

“ _Hazel Brown_ ,” said Hestia. “I bet her eyes are green.”

“Oddly enough, they are,” Astoria said, brushing her hand through the air daintily. “I should probably have a chat with Lavender… our cousins are marrying… I don’t really want to…”

Rhiannon could never understand the concept of formalities, nor what secrets Astoria knew that made her execute them so perfectly, nor why whenever Astoria returned from these chats which she so willingly initiated, she seemed less happy.

“You must be aware,” Malfoy cut in after he had shooed a paper bird that had landed on his head, “that all the other families make fun of your wedding ritual.”

“I know they do,” Astoria said brightly. “However, the Vernal Equinox is the most festive part of the year for us. It’s neither funny nor strange to us; it’s our favourite tradition. You can’t imagine how huge the celebration is… Our home becomes a small city.”

“Granted, Astoria, that does sound _fantastic_ ,” Malfoy mocked. “Fantastically creepy.”

In a slight breach of allegiance to the group, Flora added, “Yes, Astoria, how many people in your family are born in late December…?”

“Flora, don’t be gross!” Hestia laughed.

“Not as many as one might think…” Astoria answered with a flush in the face.

“They must be too tired after the partying, then,” sniggered Hestia.

“Gosh! Everyone makes a bigger issue of this than necessary,” Astoria said, rolling her eyes.

“It’s a pretty big issue when everyone in your whole family gets married on the same day,” Malfoy said.

“The Vernal Equinox is either on the twentieth _or_ the twenty-first of March,” said Astoria, gathering energy.

She then turned to Rhiannon to change the subject.

“Your birthday’s next Monday!”

“Er… yeah. What reminded you?” Rhiannon responded.

“Your face,” said Astoria. “You kept looking at me as though I was forgetting something. I didn’t forget, Rhi, but I couldn’t remember what you thought I was forgetting… which, er, was your birthday…”

It was one of those cute things that would have made Rhiannon’s heart flutter before, and she could feel where the remnants of affection for Astoria were in that moment. She pushed them aside only to find, to her horror, that she might have pushed them across the table… Rhiannon could not describe the face that Malfoy was wearing; she only knew that if _Parkinson_ saw his face, she would get Umbridge to decree that the dorms could be searched for more Pariah albums to destroy.

Rhiannon never expected to be thrown a surprise party in the common room on the evening of her birthday, which, given its title, was exactly the point of a surprise party. Her roommates had made a deal with somebody to get all of the extras in the room that night. There was a large fountain of chocolate with biscuits and fruit ready to drown in it as much as Rhiannon was; there was music playing, engulfing the whole room and turning the party into a dance. There was food –– there was food everywhere; there was butterbeer and fruit punch and some peculiar sugary drink that Hestia had invented.

Most memorably, however, were the number of people present at the party, the number of people who smiled at Rhiannon and wished her a happy birthday, and the number of people who had converted from rejecting her as “Slytherin’s Blot” to accepting her as the leader of a rock band. It was amazing how people reacted to even mild fame, she thought. She tried to give them the benefit of the doubt now that they were her fans, but she vividly remembered a time when there was no band, no fountain of chocolate, no exciting gossip in _Witch Weekly_ –– a time when the same people had either turned away from her when she was bullied or had bullied her themselves. Fortunately, though, the worst of the Slytherins still were not swayed enough by Rhiannon’s fame to show their evil faces in the common room that night.

After the party, Rhiannon must have spent half an hour thanking her friends; they were falling asleep long before she felt satisfied that she had thanked them enough.

“I do have one question,” Rhiannon asked as the other girls were shutting their eyes. “Who bought all that food?”

“Nobody bought the food,” Flora said. “That Winky house-elf that stalks Sinistra sent it all up from the kitchens. All Astoria did was ask her to.”

Rhiannon groaned, tilting her head back to the wall.

Pariah experienced a surge in productivity after those few previous months of friction. They wrote two more songs that they deemed album material and had the sense to scrap a few others. After pushing through a trying year, things seemed to go back to normal for the girls in room 106. It lasted but a week.

Thursdays robbed the most out of Rhiannon. With a booked schedule of eight classes spanning from nine in the morning to ten at night, she typically tried to exert little of anything on those terrible Thursdays, whether it be critical thinking skills, physical energy, or speech. However, with all routines come exceptions, and an exception occurred on the Thursday which fell on the twenty-eighth of March.

Why Amy Frome decided to work on her Divination homework in Umbridge’s class was beyond anyone’s guess. It was only a few minutes after she had begun writing that Umbridge spun on the heels of her clogs and swiped the papers from her desk. Frome became indignant as though she truly did not expect Umbridge to take action; their attitudes collided briefly before Umbridge’s voice reached its highest pitch and declared:–

“I will NOT have the germs of that half-breed monster enter my room, Miss Frome!”

And with that, she took out her stubby wand and incinerated Frome’s homework, which was from the centaur professor.

“‘Half-breed monster?’” Rhiannon said angrily to herself.

“What was that, Miss Clarke?” Umbridge squeaked viciously.

For a moment, Rhiannon was tempted to say, “Nothing,” and carry on with her business. But this issue was more of her business than anything she’d find in that worthless textbook on her desk. She lifted her head and raised her voice.

“It’s ignorant and _unbecoming_ ,” she said, picking words she had heard come from Astoria’s insults, “to use slurs.”

Umbridge’s eyes bulged from her sockets, and she skulked over to stand right at the side of Rhiannon’s desk. Amy Frome looked appreciative to have been rid of her, but Rhiannon now had a giant, poisonous toad to deal with. She decided that it was better to take punishment than to join the scared and silent population. And Umbridge wasted no time in sentencing Rhiannon to one week of detention for “disrespecting authority” or something of the sort.

It was five o’clock sharp when Rhiannon knocked on the door to Umbridge’s office. The last time she had been in the room was when Professor Lupin had it; she had only seen glimpses of the place when Crouch was there. But the room that she remembered was not there when Umbridge opened the door. Massive, ugly quilts hung on the walls. There were china plates instead of pictures or portraits. There was nowhere to look away from them that did not have a lace doily. Fake flowers sat in pale ceramic vases and were stuffed into an indoor window box. It was the scene of a twisted nightmare, as if Umbridge had tried to eliminate the sense that someone’s soul had been ripped out in that room. The effect was that of wallpapering over mould.

“Sit,” Umbridge said, and bowed her head toward a small desk, rolling her many chins.

Rhiannon took her time following the direction; she sat in a plank-like chair whilst Umbridge spent several more minutes rambling about her various concepts of supremacy. At some point during this senseless oration, Umbridge gave Rhiannon a roll of parchment and an oddly foul-smelling quill with a black, matted plume.

“ _Therefore_ ,” Umbridge said, summing up a speech to which Rhiannon had not listened, “you shall write ‘I will respect authority.’”

“How many times?” Rhiannon uttered.

“Well,” Umbridge said in a tingly voice, “until I _say_.”

With a grimace, Rhiannon set her bottle of ink on the corner of the desk only to have Umbridge swipe it up and drop it into her robe pocket.

“I brought one inkwell, and that right there was it,” Rhiannon announced in a tone that directly contradicted the lines which she was to write.

“You require no inkwell!” Umbridge said impatiently and parked her bottom on the velvety old chair at her desk.

With a final suspicious whiff of the dark, inkless quill, Rhiannon put the nib on the paper.

“ _I_ ,” was all she wrote, for she felt something slice her hand. She was not wrong; on the back of her right hand was nothing other than the “I” she had just written carved into her skin. Yet as soon as she had identified it, it vanished. Frightened, she rubbed her finger against the letter on the parchment. It was blood –– it was her blood. Rhiannon was so stunned that she had no idea what to think of the situation. To make sure she had not hallucinated, Rhiannon wrote “ _will_.” To her horror, the process repeated itself. The pain, the blood… it was all real.

Rhiannon looked up from her red hand to see Umbridge’s smiling head titled sideways. Her bug-like eyes were simply daring Rhiannon to speak, waiting for her to speak, as though what would happen if she spoke would be even worse. This woman, this monster that called herself a professor, wanted to watch Rhiannon suffer not only emotionally from being in detention, but _physically_. This woman who threatened to crush Rhiannon’s dream of being a musician now physically cut into her skin. But more hatred than blood poured from Rhiannon’s cut. She already had enough scars. She had enough hurt. The fact that she had come to expect it only made it worse. Her mind swelled. Her heart raced. And her voice could come out as nothing other than a growl.

“You gave me,” said Rhiannon, “the wrong quill.”

Umbridge became pleased with herself. She showed it on her ugly face.

“No, Miss Clarke,” she crowed, “I’m afraid I did not present you with anything other than what you _deserve_. This way, you will learn that the valuable lessons _I_ teach will stay with _you_ for a lifetime.”

A lifetime. Rhiannon knew that that meant something even longer than it sounded like. Certain abuses would not leave her, sure to plague her thoughts every single day –– every single day until that ‘lifetime’ ended. No escape. Only remembering and keeping every ugly mark that was placed –– physical, emotional, or both. She could conquer these things but could never forget them. That was why it was so easy for Rhiannon to see her parents in Umbridge. The sense of doom Rhiannon felt was exactly how she remembered it –– doomed to be harmed, doomed to be powerless, doomed to be told that she deserved every bit of it, that it was _her_ fault. But Rhiannon was not at the flat with Geoffrey Clarke. She was not at the flat with Jessica Limmen. She was in a room at school with Dolores Umbridge. So she stood and tried to leave and discovered that the door was locked. Would this be any different from the flat after all?

Rhiannon could not unlock the door with her wand, and Umbridge was transitioning from evilly amused to dangerously angry. But the punishments at school could not get much worse. Umbridge chose this method of torture because it would be _subtle_. Anything more, and even Fudge would want to step in. The problem was that Rhiannon could not step out. And in the time that she slowly realised how trapped she was, both she and Umbridge were getting angrier and brasher. Rhiannon was forced to stop thinking and to begin acting.

“Sit down and write,” seethed Umbridge.

The bloodsucking quill was still perfectly in place on the desk.

“Sit _down_ and _write_ , Miss Clarke.”

This school let anything fly. These stupid wizards and probably didn’t even know what hepatitis or HIV was, but Rhiannon wasn’t going to take this kind of treatment regardless of tales of blood borne illness in the Muggle news. Beneath the bloody quill and parchment was a frilly table covering. It was in perfect condition, much like every other frilly or flowery thing in the room. Umbridge waddled right up to Rhiannon’s face.

“ _DO IT_!” she shouted.

Rhiannon pretended to be greatly affected by the noise when noise was something she had nearly grown numb to. There were a lot worse things than noise. This quill was one of them. She sat down and took it in her hurting hand. She waited until Umbridge calmed and said some infuriatingly satisfied words. But Rhiannon repeated in her thoughts that she was not at the house with Geoffrey or Jessica. She was in a room at school with Dolores Umbridge, a room that Umbridge prized very much, a room that Rhiannon would have to be _kicked out of_ by Umbridge herself if she wanted to escape.

“ _HELP ME_ ,” Rhiannon wrote, covering multiple inches of the sheet of parchment.

The cuts seared Rhiannon’s hand. They hurt much more than the cursive writing. They bled a lot more, too. She tilted her hand and the parchment onto the table. She was getting out of this prison. Nothing she could feel from this pen would be worse than feeling the basilisk nearly bite off her arm, she repeated in her head. Nothing was going to be worse than her parents.

Tears fell from her eyes. She quickly put the quill into her pocket. She lifted up her bleeding, stinging hand. She began to sob from the pain, and when Umbridge heard the noise, her eyes widened in sheer fury at what she beheld. Her table cover had much more blood on it than it should have, and Rhiannon was deliberately wiping it onto the white frills. The rug, her very favourite rug which was beneath Rhiannon, was being contaminated with “Mud-blood” being shaken off the parchment.

Rhiannon had not been this angry since Jessica threw a glass beer bottle at her head last summer. Her anger was blocking some of the pain she felt, and it was making her do things she normally would not do. She started screaming things that were not quite words. She smacked her wounded hand right on a quilt, leaving a frightening print. She did it again. Then she hurt too much, and she stood by the door and continued to scream and did not even pay attention to the horror-struck look on Umbridge’s mug.

“ _OPEN THIS DOOR_!” Rhiannon commanded.

Umbridge was trying to out-scream her, but Rhiannon ignored it.

“ _I SAID OPEN THE DOOR_!”

Umbridge, too uneasy to approach Rhiannon, kept pretending that she had the upper hand. But she was too distracted trying to get the mud-blood off of her belongings. She screamed nothing Rhiannon cared to hear. Rhiannon’s wounds were starting to close up, since she hadn’t used the quill since. She had to get out before she was out of ammo.

“ _OPEN THE EFFING DOOR RIGHT NOW_!” Rhiannon screamed, and she no longer sounded like she was using her own voice. Umbridge’s eyes bloated and she began sputtering rather than screaming, horrified that Rhiannon contaminated everything she loved in the room, astonished that a student would behave this way… believing that it was because Rhiannon was Muggle-born that she could actually become a dangerous “savage” if left in this room any longer…

With a sore hand and a sore throat, Rhiannon was tired of using this method and quite prepared to be expelled for anything she would be forced to do next. Right when she thought it would come to that, it did not. Umbridge drew her wand, but not at Rhiannon. In her utter terror, she released some spell from the door, and Rhiannon leapt from it like she was escaping Hell itself. She ran as fast as she could, shocking and bumping everyone in her way, until she got to the hospital wing and announced all that had happened as clearly as she could. She was met with startled faces of disbelief and some ten unimportant questions from Madam Pomfrey. So Rhiannon didn’t repeat the story. She made it all simple. She reached into her pocket and threw Umbridge’s wet quill onto the floor and said, “ _That_. That is the thing that she gave to me.”

By the time Rhiannon had repeated the story two more times for the staff members who had come to investigate, she was slightly embarrassed about it. Fortunately, she figured, Umbridge was probably hiding away in her office trying to Scourgify the blood whilst the Headmaster and other teachers were listening to what had happened. Indeed, only a few traces of evidence were left in Umbridge’s office by the time the Headmaster saw them, but those traces were enough. The quill in question was taken by Dumbledore, and Rhiannon was left in the hospital wing for the rest of the evening even though her cuts had healed up long before she had even entered the place. Rhiannon chose not to tell her friends everything that had happened when they paid her a long visit.

Rhiannon hoped that Umbridge would finally be dismissed from the school –– perhaps even registered as a child abuser –– but the most news she got was that a report about the event had been sent to the Ministry. It was lights-out in the hospital wing when she could finally cry in peace, lamenting that she would have to face Umbridge in class for the rest of the year…

“Visiting hours are over,” Madam Pomfrey’s said, gradually becoming louder from her initial whisper each time she had to repeat it.

“I will not be long, Madam,” came a final, undebatable answer, and the dark figure of Professor Snape appeared in Rhiannon’s view. She sat up. He sat down.

“Is she gone, Professor?” Rhiannon asked hopefully.

He shook his head.

“Didn’t a report get sent to the Ministry?”

“I want you to think of some words to describe our Ministry, and then, I assure you, your further thoughts about this subject will be more accurate than wistful.”

The glass should have been considered half-empty from the start.

“I do have news for you,” he said coolly.

“Yes, sir?”

“You are freed from her detention.”

“Oh, good,” Rhiannon exhaled. “Wait, Professor –– who got me out?”

“It was the High Inquisitor’s decision,” Snape answered. “You have a restraining order. You are not allowed in her office, and must sit in the back of her classroom.”

“No loss there.”

The professor’s face brightened so faintly that Rhiannon nearly missed the sight.

“None indeed,” he said.

After a moment’s pause, he said quietly, “I would like to know exactly why you… resorted to such extreme behaviour, Miss Clarke, instead of taking the punishment. Did you assume that you would be let out of detention?”

“I was put in detention for speaking up against her when she used a racial slur,” Rhiannon stated strongly. “I shouldn’t have been there.”

Professor Snape went silent and folded his hands in his lap. Rhiannon was tired and was waiting for him to leave; he didn’t seem to really be there anymore anyway by the look on his face. She adjusted her pillow impatiently, waiting to sleep, and the motion regained his attention.

“You shouldn’t have been there, so you put blood all over her table?” Snape asked intently. Rhiannon didn’t like being questioned about her behaviour. It made her ashamed and defiant at once.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled frustratedly. “She’s afraid of mud blood, I figured.”

He raised his eyebrows, apparently expecting a much more eloquent and explanatory answer from one of his Slytherins.

“Well, sir,” she coughed, annoyed by the fact that he demanded this explanation before she went to sleep. “I thought I only had to go through this at home. So when she did that to me, I’m just gonna say that I totally lost it, and that’s the best I can say. Am I in trouble?”

There was another pause, but this one came equipped with eye contact that made Rhiannon nervous. Then Professor Snape nodded, as if to say, “I see,” and he furrowed his brow and looked at the floor as Rhiannon had never seen him do. It was very strange to see Snape mulling over things rather than _hovering_ over them.

“Of course you are not in trouble,” he said crisply, as though he had just been asked the question. “I expect you to be prepared for brewing tomorrow. Goodnight.”

And he left, thinking whatever he was thinking, judging whatever he was judging, and leaving Rhiannon with a repetitive dream about her flooding his classroom with botched potions.

~

–––––– **BY ORDER OF** ––––––

**The Ministry of Magic**

Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight._

Signed:

**Cornelius Oswald Fudge**

MINISTER OF MAGIC

“No thank you!”

Tracey Davis was the first to speak from the crowd that had gathered round the common room’s bulletin board.

“ _Nooo_ thank you.”

In a matter of moments, those who were not totally objecting to the new development were ousted from Tracey’s area, and the population of the Slytherin common room was peculiarly split in two. Rhiannon could no longer muster any ability to be surprised at Umbridge’s petulance. It was no longer even petulance to Rhiannon; it was an act of war. For a few minutes, in fact, Rhiannon fantasised about a grand protest on the part of the student body which would render school out of session until either they were expelled or Umbridge was. By estimating the size of Parkinson’s crowd, Rhiannon determined that only about thirty students out of the entire school would be on the pink one’s side. And who would support the Ministry if it wasn’t providing the children with a decent education? Fudge would be cornered into removing Umbridge.

Why the hell was everyone going to breakfast like nothing could be done?

“Hey,” Rhiannon said to Hestia, who, at the moment, was the only one who was willing to listen to her. “What, er…?”

“What’s this mean?” Hestia filled in when Rhiannon’s actual question was going to be more along the lines of “What do we do?”

“I suppose we’ll find out, Rhi,” Hestia sighed. “It’s hard to think of it this way, but with all the interference Umbridge has caused anyway, things might not be that different…”

Not that different‽ _Dumbledore_ was the one in charge around here. _Dumbledore_ was the Headmaster. _Dumbledore_ had taken away the blood-sucker quill! Why was everyone acting like they expected this to happen? How long was this going to last? When was Dumbledore coming back?

People were filing out of the room with rumbling stomachs, but when the thought of Umbridge in the Headmaster’s seat came to Rhiannon, she twirled round and went back to her room to munch on the provisions from her birthday party she had stashed under her bed. Her first class was History of Magic… she could skip that. Binns never noticed the difference between his students’ presence and absence. But Rhiannon couldn’t skip Professor Hagrid’s class; she liked it too much. And the rest of her day was necessary. She faced the fact that she couldn’t hide from Umbridge forever, but it terrified her to think of what it would do. Would she be expelled? Sent back to Jessica? Hurt again?

Rhiannon felt the scratching sensation of paranoia all over her back throughout the morning. Each moment she swore she would be scooped up by Umbridge and forced back to London through the Floo Network. By lunch, the feeling had not diminished, and Rhiannon was too frightened to even speak to her friends about it. She gobbled her food and sat in wide-eyed silence, waiting for her fears to come true. Umbridge was Headmistress. It was the end.

Or perhaps the horrible sound of a detonating bomb would bring the actual end.

In less than three seconds, Rhiannon had mindlessly grabbed the collars of the two girls next to her and shoved them under the table. She opened her eyes but could not regain her hearing after the loud noise. Beneath the table and next to her were Astoria and Manami Ichijō. Other kids were crawling under the table as they screamed and somewhat pointlessly held the tops of their heads.

“Hestia!” Rhiannon shouted, although she did not hear herself. “Hestia! Flora!”

The twins weren’t under the table, and Rhiannon did not see their feet at their spot. She drew her wand, told whoever could have heard her to stay put, and jumped out from under the table.

“HESTIA! FLORA!”

She heard herself then. Students were scrambling out of the Great Hall… screaming, crying, selfishly but instinctively pushing…

Somebody said, “Death Eaters,” but somebody else said, “fireworks!”

Rhiannon examined her surroundings quickly. There was no structural damage to the castle, so her initial thought that there had been an explosive was wrong. So far, no strangers were present at the scene, so the accusation of Death Eaters was probably wrong, too. People were running, though, and Rhiannon no longer had to ask from what.

Giant wheels of fire were spiralling and travelling through the air as a further series of bright blasts detonated in various locations of the Great Hall. What were these fireworks trying to distract everybody from? And where in the world were Hestia and Flora?

“This way!”

From beneath all four tables, the students who had had the sense not to run out into the field of detonating pyrotechnics poured out with hunched backs and shuffled in the direction of the basement. The source of the commanding voice was at the entrance of the stairwell, and Rhiannon was relieved to see Hestia and Flora directing people downstairs. Magical pink and green rockets detonated against the walls only to flip backwards into the action again, and it was plain to anyone who spent the time looking that the faculty had totally lost control of the situation once massive, multi-coloured dragons roared and twisted through the hall in aerial acrobatics. Even Professor Snape had been hindered for several moments as a quintet of rockets spun round his head.

Rhiannon reached under the table and felt Astoria’s tiny hands in hers. She helped Astoria out and tried desperately not to savour the moment as the other clung to her arms whilst colourful lights reflected in her eyes. Letting go was unfortunately an effort, but once Rhiannon was sure that Astoria made it to the outgoing procession of students, she was able to help Manami, Alexa Crover, and a trio of crying first-years.

There was another explosion, yet this one sounded as though it had made an impact somewhere. Rhiannon’s head moved side to side as she saw students pile into the stairwell to the basement and dungeons. She worried about those who had taken the route to the Entrance Hall; the explosion had come right from there… Before Rhiannon knew it, she had seen everyone clear out and was the last student in the Great Hall.

“ _Protego_!”

The incantation hailed from three different voices and had protected Rhiannon from a nearby blasting firework that was too big for her eyes to see the whole of.

Radiant cinders plopped onto the shield, and Rhiannon stepped backward only to be lifted from her feet by Professor Snape and carried to the filled stairwell. Behind them was Professor Sinistra, who proudly used her recently healed arm to cast a spell, putting up a stone wall before a screeching Catherine wheel reached them. Snape set Rhiannon down before her eyes could adjust to the dark stairwell and she felt herself in a girl’s embrace.

“Are you all right?”

It was weird to hear a voice so clearly after being exposed to so much noise. Rhiannon could tell it was Hestia and assured her that she was fine before asking the same question and getting the same response. Beneath the landing, there were students packed on the stairs and looking up, shaking in astonishment.

“There is no real emergency,” Snape shouted in Rhiannon’s ear as he was addressing the disoriented students.

“Evidently, someone thought it would be amusing to pull a large-scale prank,” Sinistra continued.

“It’s the _second_ of April, not the first,” Flora scowled from the corner of the landing.

“I thought those _were_ dangerous, sir!” Astoria’s voice argued from half a storey down.

“I did observe,” Snape said angrily, “that the fireworks have a particular magnetism to Slytherin students…”

As if on cue, a tremendous session of explosions rang against the wall that Professor Sinistra had put up.

“Therefore, no student in the House of Slytherin will permitted to attend their final class today and must report back to the common room,” Snape said.

“Ah… just _sense_ their disappointment,” Sinistra said to Snape.

The common room was colder than it had been that morning, for the house elves were not expecting the Slytherins to be back for another hour. Malfoy complained theatrically about the lack of a fire whilst Parkinson huddled up to him in her usual nauseating fashion. The fireplace was notoriously difficult to get to light on one’s own. The students could sometimes get it going for ten minutes or so, but it was used to a different breed of magic.

“They’re stupid creatures!” Malfoy said to anyone who could hear. “It was that old sack of wrinkles’ idea to have them.”

“I say we should ask our new Headmistress if we can make the Mudbloods do the work instead; although, I can’t say I’d want one getting near my food…” Blaise Zabini joined in, and Malfoy roared with laughter.

Rhiannon had hardly flinched that time. She didn’t care about what came out of their mouths. Though it hurt to the core that people actually felt that way about Muggle-borns, Rhiannon felt like their particular prejudice was old news. Other people weren’t joining in as much the way they had when Rhiannon was a second-year. Despite how people might have felt about pure-blood supremacy, it was clear that the only one outwardly amused was Parkinson, if that was even real amusement. After the chaos that had unfolded during lunch, even the bigots considered Malfoy nothing more than a blond git standing next to an empty fireplace in a cold room. Rhiannon was awfully tense about Umbridge’s becoming headmistress and realised that even the sight of Malfoy and Zabini being ignored would not remedy what a long nap in her cosy dormitory might. Rhiannon’s head at once filled with pleasant thoughts of warm, fluffy blankets in her dim, peaceful room, of wonderful sleep and of an evening off well-spent. Before she even put her foot forward to the dorm, though, she unintentionally became a witness to Astoria’s verbal attack on Malfoy.

“What has got into you‽”

Huddling with Parkinson, Malfoy hardly noticed the small girl approaching him in a near-gallop. Rhiannon considered that she was dreaming lucidly –– the words that came from Astoria were that odd.

 _What do you mean what_ ’ _s got into Malfoy_? Rhiannon thought. _This isn_ ’ _t unusual_.

Astoria must have thought it was. Granted, Malfoy hadn’t been making too much of a ruckus about blood purity for some time, but Rhiannon considered it more of an accident than an improvement on his part. Astoria was both offended and disappointed as far as Rhiannon could tell, but Rhiannon merely shrugged at the obvious. This was what Astoria would get for putting any of her faith in Malfoy. The argument attracted the attention of everyone in the common room, and, regardless of the spoken outcome, it would be in Malfoy’s favour, since all he wanted was that attention. It would make Astoria look like a fool.

The sight of the ordeal made a greater impression on Rhiannon than the words involved. Astoria was inches from Malfoy, her fists clenching between each distressed wave of the hand. She shook her head at the floor quickly and lifted it back up to him, speaking louder than necessary about things that mattered a great deal to her and nothing to him. Astoria actually touched her opponent, poking his Prefect’s badge. Her voice rose again, more pryingly. That was when Parkinson and Zabini were able to insert themselves into the fight, and the three nastiest fifth-years of the House of Slytherin were able to double-team Astoria in no time. Parkinson even backed her into a chair, blithering something about Umbridge and spitting out a few slurs for added effect. The yelp in Astoria’s voice finally caught Rhiannon’s full attention. It was time to get her body to move. Yet as she approached the site near the inhospitable fireplace, Astoria gathered her ground. She brushed Parkinson and Zabini out of her way like they were nothing more than gnats and went toe-to-toe with Malfoy once more. It seemed that they had strayed from the topic of Muggle-borns and were already fighting about something else.

“So, you’re only doing these things to look impressive, and you don’t care whom you hurt in the process‽” Astoria confronted.

“Whoa, hey,” Malfoy replied. “You know that this is an honour, right? I mean, think about it, it’s all that Crabbe and Goyle have to show––”

“An honour! You hate that woman! Are you saying that all she has to do to get you on her side is give you a stupid little emblem‽ Surely, you’re better than _that_ , Draco!”

“What does this matter to you anyway‽” Draco demanded, finally matching Astoria’s volume. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

“Like you’ve ever minded your own? This––”

“I haven’t bothered you in––!”

“No, no –– _I_ ’ _m_ talking and _you_ ’ _re_ listening right now!” Astoria blazed. “This matters because I don’t want to talk to some spurious version of you any longer! You must know by now that you can’t look good for everyone. You can’t laugh at those stupid, supremacist comments one moment and even _dare_ to look me in the eye the next. I’m tired of hearing this in school; I’m tired of hearing this from _you_ , and I can’t understand why you’re so… so _willing_ to keep doing things that you know hurt other people!”

“Oh yeah‽ Who is it that I’m hurting so badly, Greengrass?”

Astoria faltered. She must have known Rhiannon didn’t really care anymore. Rhiannon didn’t see this as worth either of their time.

“Me, I guess,” Astoria said.

Malfoy was either bored or losing; he moved away from Astoria in the direction of the boys’ dorms with a scowl on his face and a zipper across his lips. Parkinson pursued him, but he acted sulky toward her and she sneaked away from the strange scene with Imogen Stretton and Diane Carter.

“Where are you going?” Astoria called to Malfoy, making the scene even bigger by trailing behind him.

“Well, according to you, I can’t do anything without making _somebody_ on this planet upset. I’m not staying here so you can nag me about it –– I don’t know who you think you are, Greengrass!”

Rhiannon couldn’t see Astoria’s face from where she stood, but her body language was furious.

“I don’t know who I thought _you_ were.”

Malfoy sniffed and walked up the staircase. To Rhiannon and the rest of the audience’s surprise, Astoria pursued him for several steps and finished her lecture. Only her shiny black shoes were visible when her voice reverberated against the castle’s stone.

“Let me know when my friend gets back.”

Smoothly, daintily, Astoria stepped back into the common room. Withstanding the stares from other students and the “tut-tut” from Flora, she wordlessly retrieved Rhiannon for what both girls suspected would be a long discussion in the dorm.

Astoria sat poised on her bed and looked like she was waiting for Rhiannon to start the conversation; however, Rhiannon could not make enough sense of the previous event to formulate words about it. Thankfully, Astoria had enough insight to figure out what Rhiannon wanted to talk about.

“I am very disappointed in Draco,” Astoria said, “because I thought he was so much better in comparison with last year. I thought he had matured. He acted nicer when we talked. He… erm, I wasn’t as ashamed to be around him since he was acting better. In fact––”

“You considered Malfoy your friend,” Rhiannon said plainly.

“I _did_ ,” Astoria replied with a nod.

“I remember,” Rhiannon said, nearly laughing.

Unfortunately, she knew that this time, there was no joke. Astoria must have found something in Malfoy over Christmas. Whatever it was that she found that made her so happy couldn’t have been much, but Rhiannon had to admit that what she found in Asenath was probably on the same level. Hopefully, this wasn’t in the same context. It couldn’t have been. It was weird enough that Astoria thought Malfoy was her friend; she could not possibly like him beyond that.

“It was different this year,” said Astoria. “I almost thought that the Draco from last year was _this_ Draco’s evil twin or something…”

Her small laugh quickly diminished before she said, “It hurts, Rhi. I don’t know.”

Rhiannon suddenly noticed how uncomfortable she was leaning against the wall and joined Astoria on her bed. How was she supposed to support her? Rhiannon hated to think of it, but the whole situation really seemed like _Astoria_ ’ _s_ mistake. Didn’t she know better than to give Malfoy any credit? Didn’t she suspect he had stayed his usual self deep down?

“I’m sorry,” Rhiannon said. It seemed like the right thing to say.

“I was stupid,” Astoria said dejectedly.

“You weren’t… stupid,” mustered Rhiannon. “He was. He always is.”

“No, that’s the issue,” Astoria said, gaining energy. “If he _always_ was stupid, then I wouldn’t hurt. He was really quite nice to me, Rhi –– now, I know it seems hard to believe –– but perhaps Flora was right all along. He just wants attention. He acted like my friend, but… maybe I’m nothing to him. Maybe everything we’ve been through was nothing.”

“He oughta be nothing to _you_ ,” Rhiannon commented, trying to use a wise, sagely tone. “You’re ninety-thousand million times a better person than he is.”

Rhiannon had to admit that that didn’t sound very sagely, but it did bring a smile to Astoria’s face, and that was the outcome she wanted.

“Thank you, Rhiannon.”

Friendship duties completed, Rhiannon changed into her favourite track pants and jumper and snuggled into bed. Astoria, on the other hand, was wide awake and implying with “erms” that she still had something to say.

“What is it?”

“I’ve… been meaning to talk to you about this summer,” Astoria stated vaguely.

“What about this summer?” Rhiannon was brought to ask.

“You-Know-Who is back…”

“Think we all get that now, yeah,” Rhiannon uttered.

“My parents, they, erm, are expecting the worst.”

“The worst. Right. Okay.”

Where was Astoria going with this?

“Well, I wanted to know if you would be willing to… sort of move in with us…”

 _Move in_?

Rhiannon was dumbfounded. She was sure there would be hundreds of things to think about that had to do with moving in with Astoria’s family. She knew that because of their wealth, there would be no way that she would be a _financial_ burden, but what if she was an unpleasant tenant for them? She wouldn’t be a freeloader because of Pariah, but would they let her eat their food with them without making her feel guilty? She had always eaten the food Jessica bought for herself or what the school provided. The only foods she usually purchased herself were sweets and desserts, which were not considered food by most people. Food was expensive, wasn’t it? Even though the Greengrasses could afford to feed Rhiannon, would it make her feel embarrassed? Was there any good way, any protocol, to repay people for providing you with _food and shelter_? That was one’s own family’s job, but Rhiannon didn’t have a family. She had a ridiculously caring friend with a family who had been tying to help Rhiannon out since the previous year. Rhiannon thought it must not be wrong to accept the offer, but it was definitely going to be weird. She did not like the sound of a wealthy pure-blood family taking in a Muggle-born waif when she would have to play the role of the Muggle-born waif… Did they pity her that much?

It made sense that the Greengrasses would propose this, though, which made fresh the horrible feelings that Rhiannon had been trying to bury. You-Know-Who targeted Muggle-borns first and pure-bloods last. Blood-traitorous pure-bloods were likely on his “greylist” rather than his blacklist… So, if the Greengrasses felt like they still had a couple of years of safety left at home, they were willing to share them with a Muggle-born who had nowhere else to go. Rhiannon would not be kept in the dark or put in immediate danger over the holiday. She would be rescued from Jessica. Maybe the Greengrasses would even take Rhiannon with them if they had to seek refuge on the Continent again.

 _This will be a good experience_ , she reassured herself. She still could not accept the offer.

Living with the Greengrasses. What would that mean? Would it mean that Daphne would resent her for “invading” the estate and try to make what was supposed to be a haven as bad as possible? Would it mean that it would be harder to get over Astoria? Would it mean that the two would have another fight?

It might have seemed like an obvious choice, Rhiannon considered. The negatives of living with the Greengrasses did not compare to the negatives of continuing to live with Jessica. Yet Rhiannon had not made a choice to live with Jessica, and moving to Quennell Park would be an active decision. She would not be able to say, “I didn’t choose this” as soon as something bad happened. One thing Rhiannon did not like about being around people that weren’t always wrong was that it meant that Rhiannon was not always right. But if her sense of faultlessness was the only thing to lose, she would have made the decision much quicker. Leaving London meant more than that. It meant leaving the Muggle world she had always known. The culture she was more familiar with. The sense of duality that came with being Muggle-born. Wizards were as backwards as they claimed Muggles to be.

Rhiannon felt strong when she was around Muggles, even though she was legally forbidden to use magic. Yet she always had the comfort that, if anything truly came to life or death, she would get her court appearance at the Ministry like the rest of them and likely be pardoned. She figured that she would be pardoned for using magic to protect herself from attackers or natural disasters. But in the Wizarding world, however ironic it seemed, sometimes magic didn’t work, and Rhiannon felt very weak. Wasn’t it only an hour earlier when Rhiannon had seen fiery rockets _multiplying_ out of thin air? She couldn’t do that! Wasn’t it just in January when two Azkaban inmates had their souls sucked out during a prison breakout, right after one died once his soul finished _digesting_? Wasn’t Rhiannon twelve years old when she experienced first-hand what sorts of things happen when even wizards can’t control something? Even with the skeleton of a basilisk tattooed on her back, Rhiannon knew she could only mock her fear on the surface. She felt like a very weak witch but a very strong Muggle. And moving in with the Greengrasses would be acknowledging the fact that she was powerless compared to You-Know-Who. Rhiannon already knew that she was in danger, but moving in with the Greengrasses might put _them_ in even greater danger.

Rhiannon felt like her own existence endangered Astoria’s life. She felt like the only thing she could do to protect her friend would be to cut herself off from her. But that sounded like something from James Bond. And Rhiannon knew that, unlike pretend spies, _she_ could actually die. It made her sick to think that it was a choice between self- or group-sacrifice. But it was an easy choice for her after all.

“No. I won’t put you in danger. I won’t put your family in danger,” Rhiannon announced.

“You––”

“It means so much to me that you’d do this. So thank you. But no.”

“But, Rhiannon––”

“If I’m there, they’re going to go right for you. I’m not gonna do that to you.”

“Let me speak for a moment!” Astoria demanded.

“Go on.”

“Listen. The Death Eaters are _already_ after us. They know we are a ‘blood-traitorous’ family. These people do not care _how_ ‘blood-traitorous’ we are; they simply care about whether or not we oppose their ideology. We do; therefore, we are at risk of being attacked or persecuted by them. Whether we have no Muggle-borns in our house or thirty-seven Muggle-borns plus all of their Muggle families in our house, the Death Eaters do not care. Our family has already married non-pure-bloods; our family has always kept our Squibs; our family is a historical adversary to everything in which You-Know-Who believes.

“Remember this: you will not further jeopardise our safety. It is to your advantage, _not_ to our disadvantage. In terms of our safety, it will make no difference. In terms of _your_ safety, it could save your life! Rhiannon, I spoke of this as an offer, but the truth is that it is a polite order. If I can save your life, I am not going to let you stand in my way of doing so. They can get you more easily if you are amongst Muggles. We can protect you as long as we can protect ourselves. And if we can no longer protect ourselves, then we will take you with us immediately. The only other question I will bring to you is: how will you inform your mother?”

Astoria had exterminated Rhiannon’s greatest fear about the issue in only one minute. Rhiannon did not argue any more; Astoria had made it pretty clear that there was nothing else to argue. Rhiannon said “thank you” with only the shaking of her head, since her throat felt tight and she suddenly felt uncomfortable under Astoria’s gaze.

Rhiannon slouched over the edge of her bed and dragged out her suitcase. Instead of lifting it onto her bed, she rummaged through it in a rather impractical body position until she found a pen and the band’s notebook. Returning her bottom to the bed, she flipped through the pages in the hope of finding a blank one to use to write to Jessica. To her surprise, there was only one blank page left at the very back of the notebook, threatening to tear from the rings. Rhiannon returned to the front. There was a lot to be said about filling every page of a notebook.

In the beginning, there was only Rhiannon Nicole Clarke. She had the notebook for her Muggle school, but she never took notes in it. Instead, she created them –– musical ones. It had been excruciating to try to learn music with only a library and no teacher. Rhiannon didn’t even like to read. But she loved to create. She had the notebook before she had the guitar. She mostly wrote lyrics at the time because writing music was hard. But eventually she wrote more and more music instead. The lyrics dressed it up.

It was Christmas when Rhiannon got her guitar, but that had been a coincidence. Rhiannon was never just handed nice things on Christmas, and neither was the man she acquired it from. Parker Ryne, or P.R., Rhiannon’s _de facto_ caretaker by the goodness of his own heart, lived in her misfortunate neighbourhood but was fortunate enough to have purchased her future guitar. He noticed that she had taken an interest in music at a young age, much like he had. When she said she wished she could play guitar, he gave her an opportunity by giving her an old Fender Jaguar he intended to replace with a new Gordon-Smith model. The trade would be that she would do his chores on Saturdays. It was his way getting the job done whilst keeping her the hell away from her father, with whom she tended to have the most trouble on the weekends. He had warned Rhiannon that the guitar was in bad shape and that it was likely that the previous owner had stolen it from a guitar dealer. He found out that she wasn’t the type of person to care about things like that.

Two years later, Rhiannon went to Hogwarts and ended up writing many more songs in her notebook. But she couldn’t play an electric guitar in Hogwarts. That is, she couldn’t play it until she converted it to magic in another two years. Then it wasn’t simply Rhiannon Nicole Clarke anymore. The notebook belonged to Pariah, with her band mates’ pretty handwriting stuffing it, pages falling out from overuse, and many achievements. It felt right that the last page of the notebook, the last achievement Rhiannon would make in it, would be a good riddance to Jessica.

She did not realise how eager she was to write to Jessica; she made a mental note to also write the first of what she deduced would be many letters to P.R., since he was one of the only people in her old life she would miss. It occurred to Rhiannon that Umbridge would be reading both of those letters, but she didn’t really care as long as they were both sent.

 _Jessica_ ,

_I’m not coming back. I figured out it’s possible to have a decent life even though I had to come out of the likes of you when I was born. I hope you aren’t too high to read this because it is the last thing you will ever get from me and it might be the only motivation you’ll ever get to try to improve yourself. But I doubt that will ever happen. Don’t try to find me. Oh, wait, you won’t. Thanks for the stale cereal and pizza crusts and not for stealing my guitar. That’s all I can thank you for. But tell the landlord thanks because it was because of him that you had to keep the door on my bedroom. That was the only way I could get away from you & Geoffrey at night. I’d like to remind you that you never told me you loved me. Do me a favour and don’t stain anyone else’s life._

_Your own flesh and blood,_

_Rhiannon_

Rhiannon folded the paper in half and smiled at Astoria, and Astoria smiled back.


	18. The Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 18 - "Corduroy" by Pearl Jam

Astoria dropped into her favourite chair by the murky windows in the common room after a long and trying day. In her bag, she had two letters which she had told Rhiannon she would take to Twinkles that morning. It was evening, and she still had not done this.

Rhiannon, like all of the other students in the school, was aware that Umbridge was frisking each incoming and outgoing owl and reading all of the letters. What Astoria knew which Rhiannon apparently did not know was that Umbridge had collected some of the most thuggish Slytherins, sewed an impressive little patch onto their robes, and told them to do her bidding. This eight-man gang, as Draco had said eight times too many, was called the Inquisitorial Squad, and their jobs included docking points, tattling, and taking over Umbridge’s frisking job when she realised how tedious it had become.

When the frisking was done by Umbridge, it was bad enough, but since students became involved, it made plenty of room for public humiliation and gossip. As such, Astoria had not been able to send out Rhiannon’s extremely personal letter to Jessica, knowing that if she did, the whole school might know all the details within a day. Her plan was to wait until the next Hogsmeade trip over Easter break to send the letters through the post office there. It would have been a very clever plan if Astoria hadn’t unthinkingly emptied the contents of her bag on the table to do her Ancient Runes homework.

“Have I got a story to tell you,” Draco said haughtily, as though he had trademarked the upcoming story himself.

The threaded, metallic _I_ on his robes stuck out the most to Astoria; it reminded her right away that he had betrayed her. He should not have been so sure of himself in her presence after their dispute the previous evening. Was he ignoring everything she had said and acting like nothing had happened? She was sure that he had actually been listening to her… or was that another farce, too?

“Potter’s in Remedial Potions!”

Astoria ignored Draco and started sliding her belongings closer to her to keep them out of his reach and to make a small fortress in opposition to him. Unfortunately, he interpreted this as her making room for him at the table.

“I was inspecting the halls this afternoon –– you won’t believe the position I’m in, Astoria; I can do basically anything –– and I heard calls for help coming from the lavatory on the fourth floor. Now, my initial instinct is to get somebody else to take care of any problems in the lavatory, so I rounded up Umbr–– er, the Headmistress –– and we investigated the problem together. Do you know how Graham Montague went missing yesterday? We’ve all been looking for him –– well, I can see _you_ haven’t been –– but it was he, and he was stuck in the toilet by means of what I presume was a nasty hex. Well, Professor Umbridge sent me to get Professor Snape, and that was when I saw Potter getting a lecture in _Remedial Potions_! Ha! You should have seen his face, Astoria; I think it would have even made _you_ laugh.”

Likely not. Astoria knew that Professor Snape was particularly harsh with the Gryffindors, and the class was not easy as it was. She guessed that being placed in Remedial Potions was not a laughing matter.

“What are these? Letters home?” Draco said, invasively swiping the two papers Astoria had forgotten to protect.

“What? No –– no, no; they’re just homework––”

“One’s on _Muggle_ paper?”

“No, no –– maybe –– Draco, stop!” Astoria stammered, drawing her wand and trying to cast a last-second Concealment Charm.

It failed; Astoria was too focused on her concerns and not on the letters, and all at once, the fingernails on her right hand vanished from sight. Trying to focus on what was at stake, Astoria tried Shrinking the letters. To her rage, that did nothing at all, and Astoria was forced to quieten the situation lest she attract any more attention than she had already by casting (or not casting) charms. Draco untied the string and was reading the letter to Jessica…

“Oh, no,” Astoria and Draco said in unison, albeit with very different tones of voice.

Astoria, helpless, looked round the room to see who was watching. Only Parkinson and some seventh-year goons. But they were too much already. How would Astoria face Rhiannon after this?

“You mean to tell me Clarke wrote this to her _mother_?” asked Draco quietly, not taking his eyes off the letter.

“Give me the letters now,” Astoria hissed.

“Who’s Geoffrey? Her father?”

“Draco, you _tactless_ ––”

“Hey. It’s my responsibility to read these anyway,” he snapped, bringing the letter to Rhiannon’s friend up to his nose. “So she’s running away, eh? She came up with a nice lie about a wildlife preserve job she got… a whole paragraph about the owl that will be delivering this to the Muggle…”

“Be _quiet_ , will you,” Astoria said desperately.

“Mm. So why is she running away from home?”

“Did you not read the other letter?”

“Yeah, I did… Where is she going to stay?” pried Draco.

“She doesn’t know yet,” Astoria stated.

“Mm.”

After rolling and tying the letters once more, Draco reached in his bag for an ugly pink quill and wrote “INSPECTED AND PASSED – D.M.” in magical red ink on the outermost part of them. He slipped them back to Astoria and demanded that she look at him through the gritty expression on his face.

“She, er…”

“What, Draco?”

“They beat her?”

“Yes, Draco.”

“So the black eye at the beginning of the year…?”

“In all the time you’ve known her, you’ve never even thought…?”

“To be honest, I don’t pay very much attention to her,” he responded bluntly.

“Right; of course. She prefers it that way,” Astoria said. “Good day.”

From the Owlery, Astoria watched Twinkles fly toward the horizon with the letters that would change the course of Rhiannon’s life. The air was muggy; the sunset was of grey and yellow oil, mixing unpleasantly in the sky. The wind dried Astoria’s eyes. She was tired; her body was moving back down the steps by the purely mechanical drive to get back to the common room table before her friends began to care about her absence. Draco was still there, almost as if holding her seat. As if.

“If Pansy mentions anything,” Draco whispered as Astoria reopened her Ancient Runes book, “I told her I inspected songs you were sending to your producer. She won’t see any of them.”

Astoria’s fingers twitchily folded the edge of her parchment as Draco stood next to the table.

“Did you really?” she asked, trying to examine the look in his eyes.

“I said they were very embarrassing,” he grinned, and then strolled away. From then on, whenever Astoria wrote home, she made sure the one to inspect her letters was always Draco.

~

By the end of Easter break, Pariah had sixteen songs written and had developed a rehearsal schedule around Astoria’s designated studying time for her Astronomy O.W.L. Rhiannon had received a heartfelt reply from her Muggle friend in London; in addition to his goodbye, he had numerous opinions about the owl to which he had to attach his letter.

Flora and Hestia were both kept from knowing that Rhiannon would be moving in with the Greengrasses. Rhiannon and Astoria discussed that the twins were related to Death Eaters, and though the twins would never betray them, their uncle and aunt might be able to extract information out of them through Dark magic. The other reason, which Astoria kept to herself, was that the information might be painful for Hestia, who was still trying to recover from romantic drama.

Draco, Astoria concluded, had at least partially listened to all of the things about which she had confronted him. She had not heard another foul thing from his mouth, and when Astoria sneaked a peek in Rhiannon’s Foe Shard, Draco was nowhere in sight. So, when Astoria decided that she would study for her Astronomy O.W.L. on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, she invited him to join her. He declined, implying that he was above such things as studying.

“Excuse me.”

The scraggy, black-haired Theodore Nott stepped out of his very straight walking path and next to Draco.

“You said there’s an Astronomy study group meeting Wednesdays through Fridays?”

His voice mismatched his build; it was deep and abrasive. Still, his voice seemed softer than Draco’s condescending drawl. Neither did Theodore mumble; each word was crisp.

“I’m afraid it’s only me,” Astoria clarified.

“That will be sufficient,” said Theodore in a methodical tone.

He withdrew his planner from his left robe pocket and picked up Astoria’s quill to use without asking. His manner was a lot to take in.

“That will have to be after my Potions study group on Wednesdays and Thursdays and my Arithmancy study group on Fridays.”

“It can be whenever you’re available after class. I’ll be sitting here, I’m sure,” she responded.

Theodore didn’t look like he processed the word “whenever” and unabashedly used Astoria’s ink and quill to write “Astro. S.G.: 8:30 – 10:00P.M.” at the front of his planner. Astoria had a feeling that she would to get to know Theodore Nott quite well over the next two months but was not sure if she was supposed to be glad about it. Draco was naturally quick to voice his own opinion.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you, Theodore? Studying with the astronomy geek!”

“I know I’m clever,” Theodore said justly as he returned Astoria’s quill. “If you were clever, you would do the same.”

Without being able to tolerate Theodore’s calling him less than clever, Draco agreed to become a part of what was then officially a study group that would have to be “approved” by Umbridge.

“By the way, Greengrass,” said Theodore before going on his way, “you are the only fourth year in the House scheduled to have a meeting with Professor Snape regarding your career choice.”

“I don’t understand…?” uttered Astoria.

“All fifth years are scheduled to meet with the Heads of House because they are taking O.W.L.s. Even though you are only taking one O.W.L., you are still scheduled for a chat with the patron saint of potioneers,” Theodore said helpfully.

Astoria checked the bulletin board and found that she was due to meet with Professor Snape on Friday at three o’clock, or in other words, right after her double Potions class. She was the very last student scheduled.

“A one-to-one with Snape! Whad’ya reckon that’ll be like?” Rhiannon asked Astoria once the latter informed her of the appointment.

“Incredibly awkward,” Astoria revealed. “It would make more sense to speak with Professor Sinistra about my career instead…”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine the man spends too much of his time stargazing.”

On the Sunday before classes were to resume from Easter break, Astoria found that the tables in the common room were covered with pamphlets and guides about career choices. The Slytherin fifth-years, who, for the most part, were sure of what they wished to do in life, paid little regard to them apart from using them as tools with which to taunt one another. Theodore Nott, as a prime example, approached his Umbridge-approved study group member Draco, holding up a leaflet entitled “Have You Got What it Takes to Train Security Trolls?”

“You’ve already mastered this job, Draco,” said Theodore, moving his head in the direction of Vince Crabbe and Greg Goyle.

Draco elbowed Theodore, wearing a look halfway between annoyance and amusement. However, when Astoria giggled, he antagonised her with a “Think it’s funny, do you?”

“Oh, of course not,” said Astoria sarcastically. “If that’s really what you want to be, you’ll have to have a nice, long talk with Professor Snape about it…”

“That would go over like a lead balloon,” remarked Draco.

“Then what _do_ you want to be?” Theodore enquired.

“My father wants me to be on the school’s Board of Governors like he was, but I doubt that entails anything interesting at all. He’s on the Minister for Magic’s Support Staff, so…”

Astoria swallowed a hiss. The Minister was the reason that financial aid to students was no longer available. Whilst Rhiannon was fortunate enough to have royalties from In.fine.it, Sally-Anne Perks and at least sixty others were not. Here, Lucius Malfoy had been a likely advisor of this new policy.

“You know that that isn’t what I asked, Draco,” Theodore said evenly, half-occupying himself with the leaflet about security trolls. Astoria was brought out of her thoughts.

“Well, I don’t suppose I really _need_ a job, do I? Although, if Greengrass is getting one, I must also be entitled to steal a position in the job market.”

“Excuse you!” interjected Astoria. “Perhaps you and Daphne can be happy as rich dossers, but I intend to do something with my life.”

Ignoring Astoria, Draco said, “Do you know what I’d really like to do?” only to add importance to what he intended to say anyway. “I’d like to work in Media Relations for the Ministry of Magic. The members of that department are the real masters behind the _Daily Prophet_ , you know.”

“I envisioned myself a novelist,” said Theodore.

“I think those are both fine professions,” Astoria said.

“What about you, then?” asked Theodore. “Do you intend to stay in the music business?”

Astoria’s imminent rehearsal schedule with Pariah flashed in her mind, and she nearly said “no” aloud.

“She wants to be an _astronomer_ ,” Draco answered for her, “so she can get paid to look at dots in the sky.”

“Says the only one in the entire school named after a constellation,” Theodore contributed.

“You’ve been with Davis and Lazenby too much,” said Draco aggravatedly.

“And Crabbe and Goyle have obviously done wonders with you.”

Back in the dormitory, Astoria was only halfway through telling Flora about Theodore and about Lucius’s unjustifiable position in the Ministry when Rhiannon and Hestia rushed in with the news that Graham Montague was not going to recover in time to coach the team for their upcoming match against Hufflepuff.

“That makes Adrian Pucey the Captain,” said Hestia, “but we still need another Chaser… I wrote Rhi’s name on the sign-up sheet in the common room!”

“ _A chaser_ …” Rhiannon said dreamily. “I’ve gotta get out flying more!”

“You’ve got the whole day today, Rhi,” said Hestia happily. “Come on –– let’s put off rehearsing until tomorrow and enjoy our last day off!”

Rhiannon retrieved her broom from under her bed, and the two left again in no time.

“She isn’t going to make the team,” Flora stated coolly.

“Flora! Don’t be so pessimistic. I saw her flying over Christmas. The only flying she ever did was in her first year, but she’s still much better than I am,” Astoria described.

“Is it difficult to be better than you at flying?” Flora challenged.

Astoria’s shoulders stiffened. She admitted it was not.

“I’m not being pessimistic; I’m being realistics. Pucey won’t have ‘Slytherin’s Blot’ on his team,” sighed Flora. “He’s a –– well, anyway, you were talking about Theodore.”

“Yes, I really don’t know what do make of him. I don’t think he and Draco are going to get on well enough to study together.”

“They probably won’t. They’re civil, but the difference between them is like the difference between you and Daphne. I think they used to be friends before they came to Hogwarts.”

“Daphne and I used to be closer, too,” Astoria related.

“Well, you wouldn’t study with Daphne, so don’t study with this pair. You’re better off preparing for this exam on your own.”

“I figured… However, Draco is my Astronomy partner, and I don’t think I have the heart to turn Theodore away…”

“Oh, who gives a damn if Draco passes his Astronomy O.W.L. or not?” Flora punctuated.

Astoria felt like she might have. If Draco did not pass his Astronomy O.W.L., he would not be able to take any more Astronomy classes. Astoria wished that the feeling was _more_ confusing than it was, but she had come to count on spending Astronomy class with Draco near her. She had come to enjoy waiting for his elbow and hand to get out of the way on their worksheets and charts to fill them out together. She flushed with shame remembering the time he had traced her hand instead of Sagittarius, saying she had put her hand in the way on purpose. She remembered everything.

It was sporadic –– it was entirely sporadic –– but ever since their long walk back from Astronomy Tower at the very beginning of the year, Draco had developed a certain way of raising Astoria’s spirits in a weird manner that none of her friends had ever done for her. Whenever Astoria remembered those moments, she felt his absence, and she felt it strongly. Though Flora noticed what she thought were “signs” and liked to confront Astoria about fancying Draco, Astoria would not have said that even if she had taken a double dose of Veritaserum. There must have been a better word out there for her feelings; she merely hadn’t found it. All she knew was that she wanted Flora to stop talking about it.

“True,” Astoria said. “That would leave Theodore and me to study in peace.”

“I’m not sure about him, either, Astoria,” Flora said mysteriously.

“Theodore Nott? What has he ever done to you? What has he ever even _done_? I can’t tell if he’s shy or scholarly, but he blends right in with the wall most of the time…”

“For crying out loud, Astoria, you’re in a study group with the sons of Death Eaters!” Flora exclaimed. “Didn’t you read Harry Potter’s interview?”

“Yes, I learnt much from that interview… But something I’ve learnt from my own experience is not to judge people based on their families,” Astoria said.

“On the contrary, it’s a pretty good way to navigate the House of Slytherin,” said Flora.

“Is that so, Flora?” Astoria said softly. “What can I say about Theodore when two of my best friends are the nieces of Death Eaters?”

Flora froze.

“Meanwhile, Parkinson has no Death Eater relatives as far as I know,” Astoria added. “Odd, right?”

“You’re right,” Flora said before Astoria could continue with anything else. “You’re perfectly right. It wasn’t a very logical notion of mine… it…”

Flora’s laurel green eyes darted side to side. Her hands folded over the book on her lap.

“I guess I had that preconception because I don’t think of myself as the niece of Death Eaters. I’m just, well, Flora Carrow to me.”

“You’re not _just_ Flora Carrow to me,” Astoria chuckled. “You’re my friend Flora Carrow.”

“Thank you.”

“…Who has some attitude problems.”

“Ah, Astoria, you’ve gone and ruined the moment,” Flora observed.

Other than attending her classes and keeping up with the work in them, Astoria’s other responsibilities for the term included studying with Draco and Theodore, rehearsing the band’s material, and practising Defence Against the Dark Arts in the Astronomy library once again. Therefore, in History class the next morning, she took Theodore’s example and created a rudimentary schedule which she guessed would not have been up to his standards.

As it turned out, Astoria would not be going to the Astronomy library that evening in spite of her motivational timetable. As she was succeeding in casting a small Smokescreen Spell in double Charms class, Astoria heard a massive ruckus from below.

“Oh, what could it be now…?” Professor Flitwick said under his breath.

“I’ll have a look,” Montel Davis offered, swishing away the smoke he had created and rising from his seat.

“So eager to leave!” Professor Flitwick said, shooing all of the curious students, along with Montel, back into their seats. “Miss Carrow, would you please monitor the class whilst I see what the trouble is?”

“Which Miss Carrow, sir?” Montel spoke up as Professor Flitwick made for the door.

“Why, Flora, of course!” the professor said emphatically before disappearing down the hall.

“‘ _Flooo-rah_ , _of course_ ,’” chirped Hestia and Montel as Flora took several commanding steps to the front of the classroom.

“If it were you, Hestia, we’d all be following Flitwick to see what the noise is,” Montel noted.

“Don’t even try,” said Flora even as a crash could be heard above them.

All Hogwarts students who had not been able to escape from their last class still learnt what had happened by nightfall. Parkinson enjoyed being the centre of attention in the Slytherin common room that night as she revealed bit by bit that the Weasley twins of the Gryffindor House stole back their brooms which Umbridge had confiscated and that they had effectively expelled themselves.

“Obviously,” said Parkinson, “they weren’t looking forward to obtaining any N.E.W.T.s at their graduation. They _said_ they’re starting a business! A business! It _can_ ’ _t_ be legitimate… they’re almost as poor as Slytherin’s Blot!”

Astoria paid close attention to Draco’s reaction. She saw the laughter in his eyes, but he must have remembered the letter to Jessica. The same influx of conscience could not be said of Rhiannon’s former roommates or Blaise Zabini, who made one derogatory comment after another.

As the girls of Pariah were trying to stick to their plans of practising D.A.D.A. and rehearsing their songs, the forces of mischievousness consistently worked against them. If the Grand Staircase happened to detour them during their journeys upwards through the fifth or the second floor, they were rather out of luck until the staircase returned for them, for the Weasley twins had inserted a miasmic swamp on the fifth floor, and Peeves the Poltergeist enjoyed flooding the second. Although Astoria was bemused whenever Peeves harassed Umbridge, she was quick to despise him again when he ignited her, Flora’s, and Montel’s respective Ancient Runes dictionaries. Flora and Rhiannon developed grudges against him once he started locking up Mr Filch’s cat in tiny spaces; each of the girls were quick to free the creature even though other students did not sympathise with any ally of Mr Filch’s. After dinner on a Tuesday evening during which the students had to use Bubble-Head Charms to navigate through the stenches of Stinkpellets and Dungbombs, Hestia caught up to the rest of her group with little breath to spare.

“Let’s get going to the tower,” she pleaded, “before they know it was me.”

“How do you mean?” Astoria asked.

Hestia did not answer; she insisted on trying to blend with a group of Gryffindor girls as they all went up the Grand Staircase. The task was not easy, but Astoria located Ginny Weasley, and the four girls were amalgamated into safety.

“What is this about, Hestia?” asked Flora.

Hestia glanced in the direction in which the Great Hall was no longer visible before taking a small pepper pot out of her sleeve. She shook its dusty, brownish contents beneath Rhiannon’s nose.

“Pepper? Oi –– that ain’t pepper!”

“It’s powdered reindeer antler, powdered puffer-fish cranium, and Wartcap powder –– all soaked in imported garter snake venom and sundried.”

“And what does all that _do_?” Flora asked.

“It may have given Parkinson antlers as long as her arms…” Hestia said hopefully.

“Please tell me you aren’t joking,” said Ginny Weasley.

The screaming that echoed from below indicated that Hestia was perfectly successful, and Parkinson spent the next day in the hospital wing. Right before the first official meeting of the Astronomy study group, Astoria overheard Draco speaking with Daphne and Millicent about the antler event. Millicent exclaimed that she could not imagine who would do such a thing to Pansy, and though the other two cherished the injured party, they also were aware that they could have provided Millicent with a list.

“Have you heard of the Quidditch team’s fill-in Chaser?” Theodore Nott asked when he arrived.

He broke eye contact almost as soon as he had made it and started sorting through his Astronomy notes on the table.

“I know it needs one,” Astoria said.

“It doesn’t need Xander Lofthouse,” Theodore muttered.

“Oh… is he…?”

He was. Surrounding Lofthouse were characters such as Adrian Pucey, Cassius Warrington, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and the young admirer Imogen Stretton. Astoria knew how disappointed Rhiannon would be to hear that not only had she not made the team, but somebody who was related to the escaped Lofthouse from Azkaban. It was more than a smack in the face.

“He’s no good,” complained Draco when he approached the group. “But he’s Pucey’s friend, so…!”

Draco spent a few minutes talking about Quidditch whilst Astoria and Theodore nodded politely between making glances at each other, indicating that Quidditch was not something they paid attention to otherwise.

“Anyway…” Draco harrumphed. “Are we starting with the notes from September and moving forward?”

“If Theodore doesn’t mind,” agreed Astoria.

He didn’t; he already had its notes on Jupiter spread in front of him.

The Friday of Astoria’s meeting with Professor Snape arrived. The Gryffindors had put him in a particularly sour mood during her Potions class, for he had to give four of them failing grades on their brews, as three of them had not paid attention to instructions and had tried to share their unlucky friends’ successful antidote. Professor Snape was not the type of person to appreciate the feeling of a Friday, and with her meeting imminent, Astoria was finding that she couldn’t appreciate the feeling, either. Once the bell rang, the professor slipped into his office.

“Are you in trouble?” Ginny Weasley asked when she saw that Astoria was not leaving her seat.

“No. I’m taking one O.W.L. this year, the Astronomy one, but I’m still required to meet with him about my career aspirations… My meeting is, I assume, right after he returns from his office.”

Ginny’s brow furrowed, and her mouth twisted sideways in such a remarkable way that one might have thought she had just seen insects mating. Astoria became eased enough to laugh.

“I’m so sorry,” Ginny said bleakly.

“Yeah, it really was nice knowing you, Astoria,” Montel added on his way out.

Their humour helped Astoria realise that it wasn’t such a big deal after all, even if her meeting was ill-timed and unnecessary. A few quiet moments after the class had cleared out, Professor Snape emerged from his office with many of the qualities of a bat in flight. Astoria donned a smile as a defence mechanism when he sat in his desk and folded his hands in front of him.

“Usually,” he said, “I am not required to have such an important discussion with those who ought to be in their third year.”

 _Ouch_.

What sort of a comment was that? Astoria had relatively good marks in Professor Snape’s class. Indignant, Astoria remembered that she still had a letter from the Headmaster himself –– the former, better Headmaster, that is –– that she was prepared to take on the challenge of being one year ahead. And wasn’t Professor Snape a close friend of Professor Sinistra? Perhaps he needed the other professor to remind him of what a wonderful job Astoria was doing in her fifth-year level class. That class was the whole reason she had to talk to him that afternoon anyway!

“I admit, sir, that Herbology is a class in which I have no future, and that I am not the strongest in Charms nor in Transfiguration,” Astoria acknowledged.

_What’s left for you as a witch, then, silly?_

Professor Snape raised his eyebrows, and Astoria was especially careful with her words once it became clear that he would not comment over her own nagging thoughts.

“I am sorry that I’m taking up your time solely based on the inconsistency in my schedule; however, I would like to have career advice, if you deem that now is a good time for it, sir.”

The professor grunted and provided Astoria with one of the most disinclined “very well’s” she had ever heard.

“What is it you want to become, Miss Greengrass?”

“An astronomer, sir.”

“I imagine you think you are on the right path to achieving that goal,” Professor Snape said.

“Professor Sinistra has informed me that my marks in her class are tied with those of only three other students in the whole school, sir,” Astoria said happily.

“Hm. I’m sure she is very proud,” the professor responded. “However, she would be quite troubled if I informed her of your marks in Charms and Transfiguration.”

“Erm…”

Professor Snape slapped his hands on his desk fiercely enough to make Astoria jump.

“I do not know what that means to you, Miss Greengrass, but if you were in the year in which you were supposed to be, you would likely have ideal marks in those classes. Students transferring from home-schooling have a tendency to place high on the entrance exams because their environment is so controlled. So, does the sense that it is _too late_ to retract Professor Dumbledore’s action indicate to you that you should be trying much harder? Are you _entirely_ unaware of my expectations?”

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” Astoria stammered.

She definitely wasn’t proud of Transfiguration, but she thought she had improved tremendously in Charms since she came to Hogwarts, and she had been happy about her class advancement until the professor made it sound like a detriment. Yet what did Transfiguration have to do with becoming an astronomer anyway? Or was Professor Snape merely disappointed?

“Despite what the name of Atmospheric Charms suggests, proficiency in Transfiguration is _essential_ to performing the vast majority of them!” the professor explained without delay. “Now –– Transfigure your inkwell into a goblet.”

Astoria drew her wand and Transfigured her inkwell into a rather nice vase if she ever did see one, but did not dare to look up until she had managed to turn out a decent goblet on her third try. The professor Summoned it into his hand, observed aloud that it was cracked on the side, and sighed so heavily as if the sigh was a point to prove in itself.

“You were actually unaware that to become a certified astronomer you must have obtained N.E.W.T.s in Astronomy, Transfiguration, Charms, and Arithmancy?” Professor Snape frowned.

“I’m afraid this is very unpleasant news for me,” Astoria peeped.

“You understand that you must have at least an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ on your O.W.L.s in all of those subjects to continue them in your sixth and seventh years?

 _Oh dear_.

“You must retain that mark on your Charms and Transfiguration N.E.W.T., and you must have an Outstanding on your Astronomy N.E.W.T. to become an astronomer.”

 _Oh dear_.

“For any involvement in the International Wizarding Agency of Atmospheric and Space Magic, a working knowledge of Arithmancy is a must. So, that also means you need an Outstanding mark.”

That was the most encouraging thing she had heard so far.

“So tell me,” Professor Snape said nasally, “what do you want to become?”

Astoria was nonplussed by the repetition of the question.

“An astronomer, Professor.”

“Then I suggest you stop whining about your capricious wand and improve your spells,” Professor Snape said, glaring as he separated a strand of hair from his cheek. “I hope I have put things into perspective for you.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you very much.”

Astoria assumed that it was time for her to go and proceeded to do so when the professor’s unmusical voice rang in her ears again.

“Do you have any idea what your sister said to me on Tuesday?”

“Oh, let me guess, Professor… that she would make a living as a socialite.”

“It was something _unassuming_ and _inspired_ like that,” Professor Snape said, his black irises rolling upward under the shadow of his furrowed brow. “I never had such an attitude with Mr Wakeland or Miss Ansel Greengrass…”

Astoria redesigned a proverb, saying, “One bad apple does not always spoil the bunch.”

“Yes… let us hope not…” Professor Snape muttered as he returned to his office.

~

For three weeks, Astoria poured herself into her work. She studied right on schedule, toiled through each Charms and Transfiguration class, rehearsed songs tirelessly, and kept up with her friends when they practised counter-hexes in the Astronomy library. When Theodore Nott asked her to compile a vocabulary list whilst he wrote review questions, she did. When Professors Flitwick and McGonagall told her to settle down before casting her spells, she tried to stop their comments from making her even worse. When Rhiannon stopped their fourth rehearsal of the song “Mire” and told Astoria that she wanted to sing it with an entirely different timbre than she had been, Astoria did just that. Her friends even had to advise her to stop practising the Blasting Curse, for her next step up would be to make it larger, which simply could not be done in the Astronomy library.

The girls had written to Mr Mongaby to inform him that they would soon be ready to play demos; his response was to set up an appointment with Mr Davis at the Wizarding Wireless Network. The girls were unhappy that he did not schedule it on a Hogsmeade day, for they could never be sure if Umbridge would go so far as to detain the band in the school in retaliation for Rhiannon’s alleged behaviour during detention. Astoria thought Umbridge was raving to have contended that Rhiannon had defaced her belongings; in any case, the woman was awfully busy trying to keep up with the school’s collective actions against her and was no longer paying much attention to Pariah. The quartet always made sure to blend in during her “class.”

With the presentation date looming, the twins sacrificed the birthday party Astoria was planning for them, and Rhiannon sacrificed her attendance at the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. The four girls went through all of their songs that Saturday, and Rhiannon thought it was quite unsatisfactory to return to the common room that night to find that their House had lost against Hufflepuff, saying repeatedly that “if it had been _me_...,” they would have won.

“Lofthouse is such a dweeb!” Daphne declared to her dorm mates. “And to think I thought that Adrian was something special last fall… this was _his_ mistake!”

Indeed, most people were receiving a label of some sort from Daphne lately, for she was positively furious that she had no choice but to break up with the handsome Roger Davies when she kept catching him flirting with Cho Chang. Her friends were sympathetic, and Astoria gave her sister an encouraging talk, for it took something serious to bring out Daphne’s insecurities. Daphne contended that Davies had not even considered her a loss, and Astoria related that Philippe had likely already forgotten about her. Davies and Boisvert were the ones who were the real losers, Astoria said, and she said it until Daphne believed her.

Not even Tracey and Montel knew when Pariah was due to see their father since the girls had kept it secret. It was a Saturday, the day when Ravenclaw and Gryffindor would play, and the day the girls would sneak through the front gates of the school without Hogsmeade passes.

“Really, we should have investigated a little more round the school,” protested Flora as the girls stood with their backs against the stone of the castle, waiting for the Quidditch crowd to file into the pitch and become concerned about louder, more exciting things than four girls sneaking away. “I heard there are _seven_ secret ways into Hogsmeade from inside Hogwarts… we couldn’t be caught…”

“We can’t go back inside now,” Hestia said. “Besides, can’t you hear yourself? They’re _secret_ ways. How are we supposed to know about them? I still lose my way to the common room sometimes!”

“I can’t stand being here in broad daylight…” Flora mumbled anxiously.

“The only one we have to worry about is Umbridge,” said Astoria. “Yesterday, Draco was complaining to me that since he is in the Inquisitorial Squad, he has to sit with her at the match. That means she’s settling in there right now with the lot of them.”

“Only Umbridge? You’re forgetting _Filch_ ,” Flora said. “Filch likes Umbridge.”

“Ah, but he loves that cat more than anything. _You_ ’ _re_ forgetting that you’ve saved her four times in the past two months,” Astoria responded. “Even though Rhiannon’s given him trouble in the past, none of the rest of us has, and even Rhiannon has saved his cat twice. I can wheedle us right past him. Umbridge is our only concern; if we are caught by another teacher, they will understand our predicament.”

“If worse comes to worse, I have the Jelly-Brain Jinx mastered…” Rhiannon offered.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Flora said, failing to hear Rhiannon’s joking tone.

It felt foreboding when the girls reached Hogsmeade without any trouble, and even as they met with Mr Davis and Engorged their instruments and equipment back to normal size in the live room, they all felt inside that when it was over, they would walk right into a detention sentence. However, except for that concern, they were all much more comfortable with performing. Last year, they had been trying to get a recording contract and had not known Mr Davis. Astoria was surprised at how easy it was to play and sing this time; she rather enjoyed it. Or, she was enjoying herself until she was told point-blank that three of the songs she had composed weren’t album material. Mr Davis followed the announcement with praise for other songs, but Astoria was still left with an emotional bruise. One other song was unwanted on the next album, but it was not written by her. She could only focus on the fact that three of her songs which she had created from her heart “didn’t fit.” Was it not only last year when the company _wanted_ softer songs? Was it really Astoria’s fault that the heavy rock songs outnumbered the ones that were more of her sound? Apparently the _band_ ’ _s_ “sound” had already been determined; Mr Davis explained that their audience had been brought in with their last album.

“It’s too soon to twist things,” he said, and Astoria had to admit that it was shrewd advice.

Of their remaining twelve demos which he recorded, he said that they all needed more work. And, pessimistically predictably, Astoria had composed many of those. The lyrics were not even the problem; it was the music. Whilst Astoria felt that lyrics could be re-written smoothly, rewriting music to her was complicated, time-consuming, and much like if she were to unravel the specifically threaded patterns of an antique flying carpet.

 _Of course_ Rhiannon _’_ s _slow song passed straight away_ , Astoria thought as Mr Davis was making recommendations which she was counting on the other girls to remember. It was not as though she felt bitter toward him, as he was amongst the kindest persons she knew. However, he had unintentionally reminded her of her feeling that she did not fit in properly with the band. What was it going to take? She had already written a protest song that had a slur as its title… They all seemed to like the aggression in that song but did not appreciate her “piano rock” compositions. Those were what really mattered to her; they sounded graceful and beautiful and were very fun to play. At least she thought so.

Rhiannon, Flora, and Hestia emerged from Hogsmeade brimming with confidence. The group crept back through the gate, waited for a few straggling Ravenclaw Quidditch players to head back to the castle, and followed them inside. Rhiannon’s concerns shifted entirely to Quidditch as soon as she set foot in the common room.

“Oi, Malfoy! Who won?”

“Who do you _think_ won‽”

“Damn it.”

There wasn’t a Slytherin student who cared about Quidditch that did not resent the Gryffindor team. Hestia and Rhiannon stayed in the common room to share grievances, whilst Flora and Astoria went to Room 106. Flora enjoyed a bath; Astoria recited constellations in her head. That was one thing, at least, for which she was certain she had a talent.

~

Draco thought he was something outstandingly special on any given day of any given year, but he considered himself nothing less than absolute royalty on his birthday. It was no surprise to Astoria or Theodore that he could hardly be brought away from the topic of himself so that they might all study. In Draco’s opinion, it was oh-so pressing for them to know that his parents had each sent him five impressive gifts, and precious Parkinson had got him four, and, well, that makes _fourteen_ gifts from only three people!

 _For Heaven_ ’ _s sake_.

“Okay, Theodore, I think I’ve made a decent guide to the pros and cons of geomagnetic storms on magic,” Astoria said.

“Great. And we’ve all understood the health concerns of them, but… you know, it doesn’t surprise me that I can’t remember the differences between how they affect Muggle radios and how they affect ours…”

“I said, we have a really nice dinner when I come home for the summer because I’m always stuck in school during my birthday,” Draco cut in. “Then we all three go to Diagon Alley and––”

“That’s lovely, Draco, really, but can you help us find the notes we’re looking for?” Astoria pressed. “Did you write what she said about the magical and electrical transmissions?”

“I doubt I took notes for something Mugglish like that,” he replied bitterly.

“Wait a moment… why are you studying on your _birthday_?” Theodore asked slyly.

Draco shrugged instead of giving Theodore the answer that he had no real intention of studying and merely showed up at the table that night to brag.

“Good point, Theodore. Think I’ll go celebrate,” he said and left the other two in peace.

“Thank you,” Astoria whispered to Theodore.

For some time, students in the common room, including Theodore and Astoria, worked very efficiently whilst Draco soaked up attention from Parkinson and his cronies and threw different coloured candy wrappers into the fire to see what they would do. Eventually, though, the younger students got sleepy, the fourth years left for Astronomy, and the older students drifted back to their dorms. Astoria and Theodore perused and discussed their notes from April, and if Theodore had not said anything, Astoria would not have noticed that Draco and Parkinson were snogging repulsively not twenty feet from her. Once her attention was brought to the fact, though, it seemed to be all she could sense in the room.

“Only Pansy Parkinson could act as though her upper forearm were an erogenous zone,” Theodore said barefacedly after having tried to give the couple a glare they would notice. “This racket is unwarranted.”

The language made Astoria snigger and feel gross simultaneously. Theodore looked at his watch to see how long it would be until Astronomy class.

“Our class is due to wake from napping soon. Let’s head out now. I think I’ll recite the summer constellations on the way up and have you stop me if I say something wrong.”

Theodore had done a good job, as he only forgot Norma, Ara, and Circinus.

“What was the lesson she decided to review for us?” Theodore questioned.

“Planetary nebulae,” Astoria said.

“Oh, good, good.”

What wasn’t good was that the staircase changed before they could reach the landing of the third floor, and they were forced to locate the frighteningly wobbly staircase that turned into something like a small, wooden bridge around the fifth floor and led back to the Grand Staircase. All of this they did in perfect silence which neither felt like breaking until they started up the stairs specific to Astronomy Tower.

“Did you get Draco anything for his birthday?” Theodore asked.

“What? No.”

“Then he can’t guilt me into getting him one.”

“Draco and I aren’t, erm, on those terms,” Astoria felt obliged to inform the other.

“Oh. When you had that fight with him that one night, I thought you indicated he was your good friend. It was a mystery to me, really, that either of you would have anything to do with each other.”

“Well, I mean… I mean, I know what you mean,” Astoria said clumsily. “Yes, sometimes I wonder why we have anything to do with each other, and that was one of those times.”

“Draco and I go way back,” Theodore said. “Surprised?”

“I am.”

“I don’t like his new mates. Er, I’ve been calling them his ‘new mates’ for five years now…” Theodore disclosed. “But Draco and I aren’t fair-weather friends like everyone thinks. We’re actually only foul-weather friends. Or I am _his_ foul-weather friend. That is to say I listen to him vent. He has quite a few things to say about… about almost everything in the world, really.”

“To be honest, I’m not sure what Draco and I are. Perhaps ‘fair-weather friends’ is the right term. He often drives me mad.”

“You often drive him mad,” Theodore remarked. “That’s one of his favourite topics.”

“Is that so?” Astoria said with a puff of air.

“I’ve heard more about you from him more than I have from you,” said Theodore. “And, if I was an impressionable person, I’d be entirely inclined to avoid you. However, it’s clear that you can help me earn a high score on the Astronomy O.W.L., so, here we are. I don’t find you nearly as awful as many in the House say you are.”

“He must say such nice things about me,” Astoria said right before realising she needed to stop stomping her feet on the steps.

“He speaks of you in terms of your saving graces,” Theodore said. “Though, you and I speak of him in the same terms on a _good_ day.”

“Yes, on a good day.”

~

Astoria was infinitely grateful that she only had one O.W.L. to take, and was even more grateful that she could get her most important one finished separately from the rest of them, for she had seen the effects of the overload on the fifth years. The gravity that their entire futures would be affected by tests they took in their mid-teens was generally accepted by the students as preposterous, yet all were powerless to change the system. Astoria was fascinated by Theodore’s cool-headedness regarding the matter, but she was astonished when she found that Draco had not made serious effort to study outside of the Astronomy group. For someone who wanted to impress others with his wits, he was acting illogically, holding onto the belief that his family’s status would earn him high scores. That was not the case, but if it was, Astoria could not see how Draco thought he would scrape something above an “Acceptable” on any one of his exams.

To keep their wits sharp and their memories unclouded, exam-taking students had resorted to ingesting dodgy ingredients that had been brewed (or otherwise made homogeneous) by other students. Hestia informed Astoria that this phenomenon happens each year, but remarkably, no one notices that all of the products sold across the student body are only placebos at best and owl pellets at worst.

“Everyone trusts the Ravenclaws, but they’re out to make a Galleon as much as anyone. I, however, am a good person, and I know how to make my fair share without making anybody throw up snake oil all over their tests!” Hestia declared proudly.

It was not a day later that Hestia carried an official-looking, leather apothecary bag which had at least ten varieties of her specially-made potions, powders, and vitamins. Each bottle was neatly labelled with its purpose, directions, ingredients and their dosages, allergy information, and Hestia’s signature. Not even the most convincing of Ravenclaws could compare, and Hestia knew it. En route to various classes, students saw her sitting in windowsills with the light shining flatteringly on her small amount of hair as she convinced them to purchase her products. Her most successful demonstration, advertised the day before the Charms O.W.L., even tempted Astoria to stock up on Hestia’s integrative health concoctions.

“It’s the House of Slytherin that _won_ ’ _t_ be conning you this time! I’ve got perfect marks in Potions and Herbology and membership cards at all the best apothecaries,” she said, going so far as to display her savings cards as if they were some sort of professional certification. “The rest of these sellers are charlatans, I’m afraid –– they’re quite content to sell you the mould they find under sinks for you to swallow… But there are no tricks here. I’ve spent hours researching the best ways to improve focus, memory recall, alertness and sedateness, depending on what you need, and best of all, to help you pass your exams!”

“You’re quite the successful businesswoman, eh?” Rhiannon said, impressed.

“I can show you how to brew these, if you like,” Hestia offered only to her.

The wind whistled throughout the castle on the Sunday night before the start of the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Even throughout meals, it was the most notable sound, for about three-hundred students were quiet as they tried to do some eleventh-hour studying for their first exam. Many did not even notice the official examiners’ arrival at Hogwarts. They were all extremely elderly, but Astoria could tell they were nonetheless sharp by the way they disregarded Umbridge.

The Charms O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s were on Monday. Astoria, who had become newly hassled with the thought of the subject, paid very close attention to the way the fifth years reacted to the written exam they had taken that morning. As it turned out, at least this year’s exam was mostly focused on writing incantations and describing the effects of spells. Some students complained that they had spent their time thinking of ways to describe specific wand motions when the test did not require that after all. And, unlike some rumours Astoria had heard, spells that had not been covered in class were not on the test; the problem arose only when students did not remember that certain spells had, in fact, been discussed. The practical Charms examination, which took place after lunch, was worlds apart from the written one. Draco, who shone in Charms, was nearly hysterical back in the common room; he had thoroughly botched three spells. Daphne required Astoria’s consolation, for she believed she had failed the entire practical exam. Sobbing, she revealed that she caved under pressure when she found out she had to cast spells at the same time as one of her Ravenclaw ex-boyfriends, Anthony Goldstein, and the school genius, Hermione Granger.

“The _best_ I can get on that is a P!” Daphne figured. “That’s the _best_!”

Astoria informed her that with a ‘Poor’ score, she was eligible to re-take fifth year Charms and still have a chance at acquiring her Charms O.W.L.

“I’m going to be a fifth year all over again!” Daphne wept. “ _All_ of my practical exams will be with those two! It isn’t fair! It isn’t _fair_! I won’t get a single N.E.W.T.!”

Astoria was secretly pleased that Daphne had found some motivation to graduate with a few credentials, but she couldn’t find any decent advice to say that would help her sister to do so. Astoria guessed that she herself wouldn’t be able to take any sort of test, much less an O.W.L., if she had to take it with Philippe and Hermione Granger.

“Hey, Daph, I have to take all of mine with a Ravenclaw and _Potter_ ,” Parkinson related. “That’s not easy, either. So, you know what I’m doing? I’m trying to make sure I find the examiner who’s as far away from them as possible. Find tables near people from the group before you.”

“…You’re right, Pansy,” Daphne said, encouraged.

Parkinson then glared at Astoria, apparently incensed that Astoria was surprised at her ability to give advice.

The fifth and seventh years endured their Transfiguration, Herbology, D.A.D.A., and Ancient Runes exams over the next four days whilst Astoria sat for her History, Transfiguration, and D.A.D.A. finals and cracked down on her Astronomy notes. No fifth year classes would take place due to the O.W.L.s, but Astoria felt like she was cheated out of more in-class review time. Professor Sinistra said that she would be available to answer questions in the Great Hall when there were no examinations taking place, and Astoria was one of the few students not intimidated by the woman enough to avoid the opportunity. It was during these meetings that Astoria often bumped elbows with Ernie MacMillan, a Hufflepuff who had been in Astoria’s class these two years but who always sat miles from her and had a tendency to answer questions incorrectly. Astoria disliked having to share the professor with Ernie; he always asked questions to which Astoria already knew the answers. Astoria had never had class with the other callers, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom, but she was relieved whenever she saw them approaching; they asked Professor Sinistra the questions she also had and made it feel like time was not being wasted.

On Sunday night, when Astoria could not tolerate Ernie’s asking about the life cycles of stars for the fourth time, she returned to the common room to find it ablaze with fifth and seventh years, who had all but driven out other members of the House. The Potions exams were the very next day, and no one wanted to disappoint Professor Snape. Notes from as far back as 1989 had become community property for the night, people were reciting ingredients in unison, and one quirky seventh-year was walking in circles and saying aloud the flavours of different potions whilst her classmates looked on and grew concerned that they hadn’t studied flavours.

After expressing their feelings of success regarding their Potions O.W.L., Draco and Parkinson could be heard complaining extensively about the Care of Magical Creatures O.W.L. they had taken all the way through Tuesday evening. Draco, Theodore, and Astoria were to meet one last time to study Astronomy, so after asking Professor Sinistra some final, valuable questions about binary stars, she hurried back to the common room to meet with them. Their last goal before the exam was to successfully dictate the vocabulary list she had assembled.

“Oh my gosh.”

“What’s wrong, Astoria?” Draco asked, sluggishly flipping through pages in the textbook he was not reading.

“The vocabulary list… it’s gone… it’s gone!” Astoria yelped, and almost instantaneously began tearing through everything on the table in search of the precious papers.

“Sheesh, settle down!” Theodore exclaimed. “You probably left them in the Great Hall with Sinistra. Go and get them.”

“I… if I did that, we’re really in trouble… it’s fifteen minutes past curfew,” Astoria groaned.

“Then, Draco, you’re a Prefect, _you_ get the vocabulary sheets,” Theodore instructed.

“ _I_ don’t need them,” he mumbled uncooperatively. “It’s you two who insist on being perfect… just look in the book for the words.”

“We already did that to make the list! That will take forever!” Theodore insisted.

“We’ve done enough vocabulary anyhow,” Draco said, “and I’m not wasting my time arguing about it. I’m more concerned about these damn declinations.”

As Astoria was accepting defeat, an arresting noise brought the arrival of the bat-eared house-elf, Winky.

“Delivery from Professor!” she squeaked, holding up the stack of parchment far above her head, trying to reach the table and failing adorably.

“Thank you so much,” Astoria said as she took the papers. “I ran off without them. Give her my thanks, please.”

“Winky will! We both wishes you luck!” the elf said and Disapparated.

There was an extended moment of silence when Astoria had expected to hear Theodore express his relief or to hear Draco say something snarky. Neither of these things happened; Theodore soundlessly extended his hand for the papers and Draco raised his eyebrows. Theodore gave a hearty cough as though he was trying to “change the subject,” but what was curious was that there really had been no subject. He said the word “aberration” for Astoria to define, but Draco interrupted.

“Hey, wait a second, Theodore,” he said. “Wasn’t that… that elf at the World Cup? Wasn’t that Crouch’s elf?”

“Of course it was Crouch’s elf,” Theodore said brusquely. “ _Aberration_.”

“An aberration is a––”

“In all my years at this place, I’ve never seen a house-elf. I thought they weren’t supposed to show themselves.”

“I’ve seen that drunken one enough,” Theodore said irritably. “I trip on her about once a month going to this class.”

“That’s bizarre,” Draco commented. “You would think they’d throw the elf out after Potter’s high-flying heresy.”

“It was Dumbledore’s doing, I’m sure.”

“ _Ahem_ … a visual phenomenon in which the velocity of the location of an observer of a celestial body causes the celestial body to appear angled in the direction of the observer’s motion.”

“What? Oh, yes, that’s it. That’s right. _Absolute magnitude_ ,” said Theodore.

“I never did hear your opinion of Potter’s interview, Astoria,” Draco said enquiringly. “I bet you believed every word.”

“Don’t…” said Theodore indistinctly, and Astoria could not tell to whom he was speaking.

Leave it to Draco to bring up a sensitive topic –– the article which named both Theodore’s and Draco’s fathers as Death Eaters. Astoria had said nothing about it to Draco, and certainly not to Theodore, to avoid one of the biggest elephants she had ever seen in a room. Draco, however, must have wanted to discuss it. Astoria knew at once that Theodore’s and Draco’s approaches to the subject were incredibly different. Draco denied the interview’s credulity at least outwardly. Theodore, however, as implied by his abhorrence to Draco’s mentioning it, had bypassed the stage of denial. Both boys knew the things in Harry Potter’s interview were true, but Draco’s response was obstinacy whilst Theodore’s was uneasiness. For Theodore’s sake, Astoria decided to deflect the question rather than announce that she was one of the people that had no doubt about their fathers’ statuses as Death Eaters, that she had no doubt about Crouch, that she had no doubt about the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

“Well, what did you think of it?” Astoria asked.

The ambience of the table was injured, and all that could be heard were Draco’s drumming fingertips, and all that Astoria could see was the soreness in his eyes. He scoffed; he said “Not much.” And then he acted out a scene in which he was tired and yawning. Only Theodore and Astoria remained at the table after that. Theodore was not awaiting the definition of absolute magnetism anymore. Astoria decided she had studied enough for the Astronomy O.W.L.

“What good does he think he will do by asking me a question like that?”

The question had been hypothetical, a verbal release of her frustration. She almost wished she had not said it after considering how Theodore must have felt. After he spoke, though, she stopped caring.

“He has a bad habit of wasting his time with you.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

Astoria never expected such a comment from Theodore.

“That’s not what I meant!” he bleated snappily. “I mean, he chooses to enter no-win situations with you repeatedly. You must have noticed this!”

“I have noticed it,” Astoria said robustly.

“You don’t understand it, do you? Let me put it this way. Have you ever kept glancing outside when it’s raining to see if it’s stopped raining, even when you know it should rain all day? Or have you ever repeatedly looked in your pantry in the hopes that the food you want will suddenly appear?”

“…Are you comparing me to an empty pantry‽”

“You’re missing the point.”

“No, I understand perfectly. He’s looking for the mindless fan in me that isn’t there.”

“It’s nobler than that,” Theodore affirmed, “but equally likely to offend you.”

Theodore disguised his inspection of the common room by moving his face only as he massaged the back of his neck. Astoria’s peripheral vision hinted that the common room had nearly emptied. She wondered whether it was incredibly late or if people simply did not care to cram in any more Astronomy.

“We’re the only ones here,” Theodore said.

“In that case, let’s find a better seat. I can’t be next to these shadows in the water any longer,” Astoria juddered.

The duo moved to the chairs by the fire, which had nearly gone out, but continued to glow deep reds and oranges in the crevices of the burnt wood. Theodore looked round once more, cultivating Astoria’s interest in what he was about to say.

“The funny thing is that he wouldn’t be opposed to my telling you as long as no one else overheard,” Theodore said with a tense laugh.

“Well, here we are,” Astoria said. “What’s so ‘noble’ about Draco?”

“He’s horribly worried about you,” Theodore answered.

“Why?”

“You’re a huge Mudwallower.”

“Don’t use that language with me!” Astoria barked. “Don’t tell me _you_ ’ _re_ prejudiced after all I’ve helped you!”

“I stay out of this business,” rejoined Theodore. “I’ve no zeal for either side of this social dispute. What I’m saying, and I guess I shall use kinder terms with you, is that Draco knows that your beliefs endanger you. He wishes that you would change, and though it’s clear to him that that’s impossible, he thinks about this often and has a tendency to whinge at me about it. The Dark Lord does not like your type, and he is not someone you want disliking you or your friends. Obviously, it’s too late for you based on your choice of a Muggle-born friend. Now I’ve become mixed up with you, and I fear for you as well. The difference between Draco and me is that I’ve had to accept the fact that your personal safety is jeopardised and he has yet to do so. He’s in denial about many things. That is why he continues this futile effort to convert you to believing things at least slightly closer to the Dark Lord’s doctrines. You’re the only friend that he has about whom he has to worry.

“It begs your forgiveness now that I know you, but I advised him last summer to forget about you. I told him that this is what you chose, and that if he’d disregard you, he wouldn’t be so upset when you do get yourself into trouble. As you can see, he didn’t listen at all. He’s really a dreadful listener. Now that things with You-Know-Who are getting, you know, _serious_ , he’s more upset. He is upset _at_ you and _about_ you; he says you’re opting out of the benefits of You-Know-Who’s power. Do you know what he said to me this morning? He said, ‘I just don’t know what I’m going to do about Astoria.’ Don’t give me that quizzical look; I’m merely telling you what he said. So, anyway, now that you know, perhaps you and he can discuss it instead of him and me. You can probably see how I’ve run out of things to say to him.”

The explanation was long-winded but not complicated. Astoria’s feeling was a different story; it was harassed, irate, entranced, frightened, warm, and aching. She had never felt closer to Draco, yet he wasn’t even in the room anymore. She had goose pimples, icy and foreboding, as though they had been hand-drawn on her arms by You-Know-Who himself. She felt the need to check on Rhiannon, to make sure she was safe and sound in bed. She felt a burning, ruthless blush, the product of a perilous mixture of anger and elation. She felt the stare of Theodore Nott, blue-eyed, observant.

“He does not need to worry about me,” Astoria said after finding her voice. “I worry about myself enough. He and I had this talk before last summer holiday. I love my friend, and if I die for it, I will not die a liar and a coward.”

Theodore raised his eyebrows and clenched his jaw.

“Strong words,” he said, his eyes fixing on hers in near disbelief. “If you mean that, I can respect that.”

Astoria could tell he was thinking something to the effect of “Nice knowing you,” but she had come to peace with her decision last year, and he could not disrupt it. She kindly touched his shoulder as she stood and bid him goodnight.

The dormitory faintly glimmered white from the light of her wand. Flora was wriggling, Hestia was peaceful and still, and Rhiannon was snoring. Astoria fell asleep with thoughts of how dear they were to her.

~

Though Astoria had an impending O.W.L., she was still required to take her Arithmancy, Charms, Herbology, and D.A.D.A. finals that day. She breakfasted with Draco and Theodore; they all stared vacantly at their notes whilst eating and stood with each other in the Entrance Hall as they waited for their class to be called back to the Great Hall to take the Astronomy O.W.L. The only long table remaining in the hall was the staff table, at which Professor Snape wore his best sneer. A myriad of desks spotted the rest of the room, and the students were seated in them alphabetically. And although Hermione Granger was a curiously noisy writer, and Daphne emitted a handful of tiny sighs, Astoria was not bothered. She was actually enjoying the written exam, explaining at length every question she was asked. Her reality check came only once she noticed how much sand was at the bottom of the hourglass near Professor Snape; the exam soon became less rewarding. She had finished exactly on time, and though she was unable to check her work, she remembered being pleased with all of it and had not left a single question unanswered. She smiled to herself each time she overheard students remembering the most difficult questions on the exam, for she had known the answers.

“Oh, put your chin down already,” Daphne scowled as they exited the Great Hall together.

After the D.A.D.A. final, she told Rhiannon, Flora, and Hestia all about her experience with the written Astronomy examination and questioned what they might have to observe during the practical exam at eleven o’clock that night. She was the leader of the climbers, all one-hundred-forty-something of them. Her heart swelled when she entered the classroom and saw Professor Sinistra, who was absent-mindedly turning the crank on the cometarium.

“How is the sky tonight, Professor?” Astoria beamed.

“It was really quite leaden,” she responded. “I had to spend fifteen minutes clearing it. How was the written exam for you?”

“A dream, Professor,” Astoria laughed.

“Ah, wonderful. The practical might offend you in that case, I’ve recently discovered. They made it too easy. I would wish you luck, but I shall save it for when you truly need it.”

“Oh… thank you, Professor!”

The night was nippy, but Astoria was quickly distracted by the sky. It was a bit bright for thorough stargazing but perfectly clear. An elderly examiner handed her a blank star chart, and it soon became so much like Christmas for Astoria that she nearly embarrassed herself thanking the old wizard. Once more, she was positioned between Hermione and Daphne. Farther from her, someone had a particularly squeaky telescope, but the loudest noise Astoria could hear was the scratching of her own quill as she charted the few stars and planets that were visible and decided to fill in all of the celestial objects that would be visible by the end of the examination. She thought she must have looked raving as she rotated the chart and speckled ink in all of the perfect positions; she was like an artist creating pointillism.

Astoria was the first one finished by a large interval. Everyone was peering exhaustively in their telescopes as though they had forgotten that the date was the nineteenth of June, that everything would be perfectly in place as it always was… Astoria decided to look in her telescope to double-check her work, as the other student’s persistence with using the tools had made her second-guess herself. She found that everything was in perfect order after all, relaxed, and enjoyed looking at the marvellous sky in peace. Professor Hagrid’s dog could be faintly heard barking, but apart from that…

 _RRAAHH_.

What an awful noise coming from the grounds and ruining the peace! Instantly, the students were full of motion as they tried to find the source of the sound. The examiners were able to quell the disturbance until the loud lash of a spell could be heard.

“No!” Hermione shrieked, jumping from her seat to better see the grounds. Nearly every student joined her, though Astoria was too intimidated by thoughts of disqualification to see what the commotion was in detail. Instead, she peeked determinedly through the crenel nearest her whilst others endured the bewildered protests of the examiners.

“You won’t take me like this!” Professor Hagrid shouted.

 _A duel_?

Confused by the noise, Astoria focused her eyes in time to see the red blazes of Stunning Spells. Hermione screamed in her ear. Other girls started screaming in her other ear. Astoria found herself sitting with her back against the battlement and her wand drawn in no time. She tugged on her sister’s robes until she joined her in what they both considered the safest spot available.

“COWARDS!” Professor Hagrid shouted as he could be heard slugging his assailants with his massive fists.

Somewhere, evidently, was the pink one; Astoria could have recognised that awful chirrup from a mile away. She huddled against her sister’s shoulder as she heard the stomping of a massive man running off in the distance… and without a word of explanation for those who had hidden from rather than witnessed the event, one of the examiners simply announced that there were five minutes remaining of the exam. Astoria spent those five minutes right where she had hidden, clutching her valuable star chart in one hand and her wand in the other. Those who continued their business amazed her.

Time was called, and Daphne twirled upwards to avoid humiliation; she latched onto Parkinson’s arm and started asking questions about the noises on their speedy way out. Everybody had blended into a loud mob by the time Astoria lifted herself off the cold, scratchy stone.

“What on _Earth_ were you doing?”

“Not getting Stunned,” Astoria answered the voice she instantly recognised as Draco’s. “I see Parkinson’s left you to fend for yourself up here.”

“Hm, she’d never,” Draco considered. “Your sister stole her. And we’re way out of the line of fire. Stunning Spells don’t have that sort of range, Astoria.”

Astoria grumbled as she discovered she had earned a scrape on her knee from trying to get her sister to safety. She and Draco turned in their star charts and went down the spiral staircase. Astoria wanted to speak with Professor Sinistra, but she was teaching the class of first years.

“Oh, there you two are,” said Theodore as the pair came into his earshot. “What a mess with Professor Hagrid…”

“What happened, exactly?” Astoria wondered.

“Umbridge brought a squadron of Ministry workers to help her sack the professor. It went less than smoothly, as you know,” Theodore said. “Professor McGonagall’s been hit with a flurry of Stunning Spells…”

“Is she all right‽”

“Nobody knows,” Theodore said.

“Oh, God…” Astoria sighed. “That Umbridge is a wicked woman… _wicked_ …”

“Watch out, Astoria, her minion is among us,” Theodore said mockingly.

“Shut it, Nott,” Draco said.

The noise of the sprinting mass in front of the trio diminished significantly after the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws parted for their towers. To make up for it, it seemed, the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs soon became louder. Astoria, Draco, and Theodore, though, did not have very much to say. Astoria wondered if Draco knew about the discussion she and Theodore had the previous night, and she wondered if she could keep herself from waking up her dorm mates to tell them what had happened on the grounds. Hestia and Rhiannon were definitely going to miss Professor Hagrid…

“How was the test for you two?” asked Draco.

“I probably got an E,” Theodore said contently. “My problem arose when I made one mistake with Apus and made everything else surrounding it messy once I became confused.”

“That’s a shame, Theodore, considering the fact that your study partners both got O’s,” Draco bantered.

“You? An O? You told me the written exam was _dire_ ,” Theodore stated.

“I did not. I said I forgot _one_ constellation that I knew I would hate myself for when I remembered what it was,” Draco maintained.

“Which one did you forget?” Astoria asked.

“Scorpius,” Draco said. “I know, I know… ‘How can you forget Scorpius and remember something like Pavo, Draco?’ ‘We studied Scorpius for a whole day, Draco!’ ‘It’s a Zodiacal constellation, and you’re in Divination class, Draco!’ I don’t want to hear it. I missed all five questions about it.”

“At least now you won’t forget it again,” Astoria said.

“Not after missing five questions I won’t,” Draco nodded.

“You probably remembered Pavo because of your nutty grandfather’s peacock farm,” Theodore commented.

“Quiet about my grandfather. He’s really sick right now,” Draco informed.

“Oh… Sorry, mate.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Draco.”

“M-hm, thanks.”

Everyone in the common room wanted to discuss the newest Umbridge ordeal. Astoria instead walked straight for her dormitory. With everything that Theodore had told her about Draco, the sight of Parkinson kissing him had never been so ugly.


	19. Before the News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 19 - "Friends Make Garbage (Good Friends Take It Out)" by Low Roar

“Go back to sleep, Astoria.”

Astoria’s eyes were dry and sleepy, so Rhiannon’s instruction was relieving.

“Professor McGonagall’s in St Mungo’s; all her classes are cancelled. I’m gonna bring you somethin’ to eat for when you get up to get ready for block two.”

“Oh, Rhiannon, thank you…” Astoria mumbled before closing her barely open eyes.

The other three girls left the room speaking about what a shame it was that Professor Hagrid was sacked; they had heard of it before Astoria could tell them. She pulled the covers back up to her chin.

Astoria had to take her fourth-year exams in Potions, Transfiguration, and Ancient Runes despite the unfortunate truth that she had not studied for them and was solely relying on her knowledge left over from class. She was tired and lost in thought in the midst of students who could not stop themselves from gossiping about Harry Potter, who had passed out during the History O.W.L. Astoria thought that was very unfortunate; the examiners were going to score whatever he had finished. She had passed out once at school, but it had not been during a test. If she were going to pass out during any of her O.W.L.s the next year, she guessed it would be practical Herbology.

“How do you think you did?” Ginny Weasley asked her after their Potions exam.

“I left four questions blank,” Astoria admitted.

“I skipped three of them. I think there were plenty of trick questions hidden in there, too.”

“He must not have wanted to disappoint us,” Astoria said.

“That’s the truth…” Ginny sighed.

Astoria didn’t see Ginny in the corridors for the rest of the day.

Astoria and Montel Davis were walking to Umbridge’s classroom when Hestia came running toward them.

“Umbridge cancelled too,” Hestia smiled.

Astoria could not imagine why, unless Umbridge also had suffered an injury during the fight on the grounds.

“Want to go to the library to study for Ancient Runes?” Montel suggested.

Their fingers slid down pages of symbols in their books as they unenthusiastically crammed for their test. With the first glimpse of the exam Professor Babbling gave to her, Astoria wished she had studied more for it. If only she had known how easy the Astronomy O.W.L. was going to be, she would have studied more for other tests and might not have messed up so many translations.

With all of her classes essentially finished for the year, Astoria was left with plenty of time to think of other things. She moseyed round the castle after dinner with Hestia; they spoke of their tests for several moments and skidded across their own awkwardness.

“Professor Sinistra went round the bend today when Peeves smudged all the telescope eyepieces,” Hestia said.

“Oh, no…”

“She had the Bloody Baron scare him from ever going back in her classroom again.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. And Umbridge rounded up the Inquisitorial Squad earlier. I heard someone broke into her office. I haven’t seen Malfoy or Bulstrode, or any of them.”

“They’re probably massaging her feet right now,” Astoria said scornfully.

“Yeah.”

“Shall we go outside?” Astoria proposed as they walked past the Clock Tower courtyard.

“I’d love to.”

A cool breeze tickled their cheeks as they walked out to the dank courtyard. The sun was sinking, but glimmers of it were still peeking through cracked, ivy-ridden stones in the walls. Hestia audibly breathed in the evening air; she stretched out her fingers to let the gentle winds fly between them. Astoria ran to the other side of the courtyard with a splendid sweep of energy; her eyes adjusted to view the spectacular tower soaring above her, its wrought-iron clock ticking with a deep tone.

“Oh, no one’s bothered to thin the pear trees…” Hestia objected.

She dexterously pointed her wand all over the trees, carefully choosing which fruitlets to detach. The _plop_ , _plop_ , _plop_ of the undeveloped pears onto the busted, muddy brick below was louder than the sound of Hestia’s spell. Pale yellow light flashed over and over until Hestia decided she was tired. She sat down next to Astoria on the edge of the murky fountain in the centre of the courtyard.

“Watch your head,” Astoria warned before Hestia was nearly conked by the wing of gargoyle.

“Oh, this is a couple’s spot, isn’t it?” Hestia said, peeking into the fountain water to see a collection of names and initials carved into the stone at the bottom.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Astoria kidded.

“Very funny! How do you think they get their initials under the water like that?” Hestia wondered, her eyes examining the alphabet-soup-like appearance of the nearby letters of _TD_ ♡ _ML, AS_ + _JC_ , and _RL_ \+ _SB_.

“It’s either a special wand-writing technique,” Astoria hypothesised, “or they wait until the water drains in the winter.”

Hestia lifted her eyes to the cerulean sky; its clouds became a deeper and deeper plum as the sun fell further. Astoria leaned her head on one of the less mossy parts of the column beside her and waited for stars to start emerging into view. Her thoughts whirled round the conversation she had had with Theodore for what must have been the third time. Somewhere in the castle, Draco was holding a grudge against her for not trying to get her “fair share” of You-Know-Who’s power, or something contemptible like that.

“Hestia,” Astoria said timidly.

“Yes?”

“It’s come to my attention that I ought to be scared.”

“You mean about…”

“Yeah.”

“…Yeah. Yeah, me too. Imogen Stretton was saying earlier that the most foolish thing someone could do was to be a ‘blood-traitor.’ As if You-Know-Who was going to knight us for being pure-blood or something. Reward our families. Give us clout. I don’t know. I’ve lived with a pair of Death Eaters my whole life, and the only thing I’ve got out of this Dark Lord rubbish is pain.”

Astoria nodded sympathetically. She drifted back to her thoughts as nightfall splashed over her. The weather was lovely and the sky beautiful. It was hard to believe that You-Know-Who was out in this same world again, calculating when to ruin everything.

“I can’t lose Rhiannon,” Hestia whispered.

“I know, Hestia,” Astoria said. “I’m worried about her as well.”

“I don’t know what to, to do, you know? I really don’t know what to do.”

“You… I don’t think there is anything you _can_ do…” Astoria said restlessly.

“That’s what bothers me.”

Astoria wished that she could ease Hestia’s mind at least slightly by telling her that Rhiannon would be protected as much as possible at the estate, but the matter was private, and Hestia was still sensitive about Rhiannon’s past feelings. Astoria’s mood transitioned from cheerful, to frightened, to bitter. She considered what Draco would have thought about Rhiannon’s tenancy at Quennell Park. He probably would have thought Astoria was stupid for protecting her friend, even though Theodore had made it clear that Draco wished he could protect Astoria. Maybe that was the feeling he had about his wish, too –– that it was stupid to waste his nerves on Astoria. It hurt to think of the slime inside his heart when Astoria still so clearly remembered all the times she and he had smiled together.

Back in the common room, Draco was telling a vivid story about his doings in the Inquisitorial Squad and how Umbridge had put Professor Snape on probation. Draco had a bloody nose, and Astoria interrupted his wild tale to ask him if he was all right. He puffed out his chest and told her that he was, and Hestia and Astoria retired.

~

The alarms had gone off, the hair had been fixed, and the make-up had been applied. Astoria, Rhiannon, Flora, and Hestia stepped into the Great Hall, happy to see the absence of Umbridge at the staff table. In an instant, though, Astoria noticed that nobody at that table looked as happy as they ought to have after having misplaced Umbridge. In contrast, the students were cheerfully munching away, and the clamour of breakfast had hardly risen when the owls came in with mail. Astoria saw Professor Sprout folded her hands as if to pray. More people had mail than usual.

Astoria sat next to Theodore Nott, who was sitting very still, and her friends sat in a line on the other side. Rhiannon tucked in immediately, and Hestia was adding spices to her pumpkin juice. Past them, Astoria could see Flora’s head turned toward the staff table. The mood there had not changed since Astoria had last looked. She was about to ask Theodore if he was okay, as he hadn’t moved since she had arrived. But somebody elbowed Theodore into her. His eyes fell; his lip quavered as he emitted something less than a whisper.

“Oh no,” Draco said; it was he who had elbowed Theodore.

Astoria glanced beyond Theodore’s bowed head to see that Draco was holding an incredibly long letter. The bottom edge of it had fallen into his food; he did not even notice. Theodore had begun to nod with his eyes closed, as if he were trying to accept some horrible news.

But it was Draco who had the news in his hand. His lips were nearly white as he was mouthing whatever was in that letter.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Draco said as his eyes scanned the oatmeal-soiled end of the letter. “No, no, no…”

Astoria had never seen him so mortified; she was too frightened to ask him what was wrong. Whatever it was, it was big. Rhiannon and Hestia had taken notice. Across the table, Daphne, Parkinson, and Heather Thatcham had taken notice. And Tracey Nettlebed was already leaning over her breakfast to try to get the most out of the scene.

“Draco, what is it…?” Parkinson asked, reaching her hand across the table to touch his arm.

“The dungeons. Go, Pansy, we’re going –– _hmm_ –– now,” Draco said, utterly panic-stricken. “Dad, it’s Dad… it’s Dad… _hmm_ , _no_ , _no_. Theodore, it’s Dad.”

Draco nearly fell backwards from his seat. He got up, his back arched; he was scratching one side of his head. His grey eyes were wet and surrounded with red rings. He was ready to break into tears. Theodore stood up quickly, and Parkinson had already started running round the table. Draco escaped to the stairwell, Parkinson had caught up to his side, and Theodore walked close behind. Astoria had not even realised she was out of her seat until Theodore put up a hand that told her to stop. His expression alone said everything she didn’t want it to.

 _You don’t belong in this_.


	20. The End and the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Draco's début as a POV! So every once in a while we will get to see things from his perspective from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 20 - "Finding Me" by Vertical Horizon

Draco had simply handed the letter to his friends to read, for that was the easiest way. There would not be any questions if they had both seen each word his mother had written. It would let Theodore know that both of their fathers had been arrested. Theodore was only guessing the worst, since he had no other family to mail him and hadn’t read the paper.

Draco would know the moment Theodore saw that part; Theodore was going to lose it. That would be a real sight, but Draco was going to curse the shit out of anyone who wanted to say something about it. There wouldn’t be anything to lose.

Theodore derailed in less than a minute, and Pansy had to wrench the letter from his hands as he slouched over his knees uselessly. She gasped aggressively and threw her arms over Draco.

 _Finally, some support_.

Draco rested his chin on Pansy’s shoulder. She smelt sweet, like the perfume he had bought her. With Pansy holding on to him, it was easier not to cry. But he felt so dead.

If anybody was under the impression that this was a surprise for Draco, they were mistaken. He had, like his mother, anticipated his father’s arrest ever since the Little Hangleton fiasco. Draco owed it all to Fudge’s stupidity that he had had his father for the past year. But the more momentum the Dark Lord gained, the harder it had been for Draco’s father to keep up appearances. The Malfoys had been wrought with paranoia. Something was bound to be exposed eventually. Thanks to Harry Potter, it was quite a bit. And Draco wouldn’t be welcomed home by his father next week. He wouldn’t be with his father over the summer. He would go home to a traumatised mother, a dying grandfather, and whatever this “your aunt” business was going to be.

Theodore, the only Nott who was both living and not incarcerated, would be coming with him, according to the letter. Who knew how that would go. Draco wanted to talk to Theodore about many things before they boarded the Hogwarts Express. For one, Draco was positively terrified of the possibility of meeting Bellatrix Lestrange, a meeting which he had come to know to be inevitable ever since the Azkaban breakout. Perhaps it was the fact that his mother would never take him to visit this relative that told him she was nasty. It only reminded him that the crime for which she was convicted sent shivers down his spine. More likely, though, he was anxious about meeting her because she was the closest person to the Dark Lord himself.

Draco wanted to ask Theodore how long he thought it would be before the two of them would see the Dark Lord face-to-face. The amount of power one sensed in the Dark Lord was only matched by the fear one felt in his presence. The Dark Lord had killed his followers on whims. He had existed in hideous states of being that could hardly be imagined. There was a rumour amongst the lower Death Eaters that he was actually part beast, a snake in every sense. He knew everything. To top it all off, he probably was insane.

Draco assumed there would be a long, exhausting discussion in the dormitory later. Draco, Theodore, Vince, and Greg, whose fathers had all been arrested, would surely be excused from these unnecessary, end-of-year classes. Blaise would show up later feeling pleased that he had no loved ones rotting in a prison cell surrounded by dementors. Vince would probably be pleased anyway. He would think it was an honour that his father “had the guts” to be arrested; that was how he looked at things. But Greg, like Draco, had a mother to worry about and was going to need to give his friend, Vince, a place to stay.

There was one thing that Draco did not want brought up even though he knew it was true. His father was suffering terribly. He was being detained at the Ministry, the very place where he had worked for so many years. He was powerless. He was watching his wife cry. He was awaiting a hopeless trial. He would be thrown into that hellhole to be drained of everything.

But the Dark Lord would get him out, certainly. If he had bothered in January with people of whom Draco had never heard, he would _have_ to free Draco’s father… But how long would that take? How much would he and the family have to suffer before the Dark Lord came to full power? Their image was ruined. Draco’s main source of pride would be thrown in a filthy prison cell as a public enemy. And one thing that had refused to leave the back of Draco’s mind since he read the letter was that he hadn’t a clue what his dad had _done_ to attract Potter’s attention. It was terrible.

Theodore was still crying by the time Draco was tired of thinking alone and wanted to talk. He lifted his head and looked at Pansy’s shining eyes. She sensed it.

“I’m so sorry, Draco. I-I don’t know what to say…”

He shrugged gratefully.

“When is… well, when is the trial going to be?”

“Er.”

Draco thought it was a bit too soon to be asked that. He didn’t even know the answer. It didn’t really matter _when_ anyway, but Pansy was at a loss for things to say.

“If there’s anything I can do to make you feel better… I mean anything at all…”

“I’ll let you know, Pansy. Thank you.”

How she could be in the mood for a snog right then, Draco did not know. She must have thought it would take his mind off of the disaster. Evidently she didn’t understand that people aren’t usually up for snogging when their fathers are arrested and exposed as Death Eaters. Maybe she did not consider it as serious of an issue as Draco did. She must have looked at it with the knowledge that the Dark Lord would free the Death Eaters soon enough. Plus, resembling Vince, Pansy thought that Death Eaters were cool. Draco did not deny the flair, but there seemed to be a great deal of pain, stress, and daunting scruples that went along with being “cool.” And how impressive could they be when they were struggling to hold their own in Azkaban? Pansy would have had much more to say if she thought about the same thing happening to _her_ father. She instead looked at it as a new development; if the Dark Lord was active enough to have his Death Eaters revealed, then the pure-bloods’ share of power must be soon to come. Draco tried to look at it that way, and it was one of his few comforts. But his dad was still gone.

By lunch, the whole school knew. Everyone in Draco’s dorm apart from Blaise acquired their meals by taking plates from the table and retreating back to the common room. They had talked until their throats were dry, but the talk was distant and unhelpful. Then they drifted. Blaise took Vince and Greg for a walk when Theodore requested privacy in the dorm. Draco had been sitting alone at a desk by the common room bookshelves for what felt like ages; Pansy, for once in her life, had determined that he needed space. People came and went in the common room, but the only people who talked to him were Death Eaters’ relatives, namely Lofthouse and Stretton, asking him questions to which he had no answer. Most others only glanced over like he was a museum exhibit. It enraged him that when people came back from dinner, he could hear them gathering in the dormitory halls instead of near him to chatter about the arrests, the Dark Lord, and Potter’s stupid interview from months ago. Yeah, it was all true. Those who weren’t involved didn’t need to pat themselves on the back for believing it in the first place. The noise eventually diminished as the evening drew on. Greg, Vince, and Blaise returned and asked Draco if he was coming to the dorm. He said no. He needed to write to his mother without their hovering. But his parchment had been blank for a long time.

There was some unpleasant noise erupting to the left. A door thumped shut not too deep in the corridor of the girls’ dormitories. Somebody that Draco did not want to see was standing at the foot of the stairs in an instant. Her eyes were wide and her lips pursed resolutely. It was obvious that she had had a fight with her lot. Draco watched her as she tried to Levitate a chair. She was too upset to succeed. She picked it up ineptly and slogged all the way over to Draco. She set it down next to him. Too close. She moved it back a bit and parked herself in it. She couldn’t figure out how to sit. She folded her hands in her lap and sighed. Draco and Astoria stared in each other’s faces for half a minute.

“I am terribly sorry,” she ultimately said.

“That’s surprising,” Draco responded instantly. “Go read the papers some more. You’ll change your mind. Just don’t bitch at me before you decide not to speak to me again. I don’t need to hear it, you understand?”

She shuffled.

“I read all the papers, and I’m not sorry for your father’s sake.”

“ _Thanks_ ,” Draco spat.

“It’s you I care about.”

“Yeah, right, thanks.”

“Believe it or not, I didn’t come down here to bother you.”

“You’re doing a fine job!”

Astoria gulped and picked at her fingers. Draco looked the other way, hoping she’d leave. This could have been something short and forgettable if she would have left without any more words, so that the last memory that Draco would have of her would be of her smiling at him after the Astronomy O.W.L. and not of her tearing him to bits before renouncing him aloud. But she was going to do things her way, as usual.

“You know me; you know how I see things. Regardless of what your father did, though, he is still a father to you. You are here alone in all of this, which you don’t deserve to be. If it was my father, I’d hardly be able to sit up. I’d expect somebody to be at my side. I’d be in too much pain. That is why if you need to talk, I am here to listen. I hate seeing you alone.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Draco made known. “ _You_ happen to be one of the last people I want to talk to right now. I need to be alone. Get it? Alone, like I _was_ , for a reason.”

Astoria looked crushed. _Poor_ , _poor Astoria_ –– she wasn’t used to people not wanting her. Well, Draco was used to it; he was quite familiar. He had received the same treatment from her plenty of times. The “go away” treatment. That always felt great.

“…That’s fine, too…” Astoria choked.

It wasn’t fine; it was a nasty sound to hear her quaver like that. Her quiet, careful footsteps in the other direction seemed to become louder the further she walked away. An empty chair was now Draco’s company. He knew he wanted to talk then; his ideal companion was simply not Astoria Greengrass. Truthfully, the only person he could comfortably imagine being in that empty chair was Theodore, but Theodore was in too bad a state to offer any sturdy support; he had the same problem. Astoria was an outsider, somebody who couldn’t empathise, and somebody who might not even sympathise. But she had at least tried to reach out. Draco knew she wasn’t going to take the issue lightly like Vince, Pansy, or Blaise had. She understood its gravity. She wasn’t going to agree with Draco on very much, but it had felt nice when she said that she hated to see him alone.

Astoria had already gone up the stairs. It was too late to accept her help. Draco put his head down. His letter home was still empty, and he had absolutely no idea what to write. He often said the wrong thing accidentally as a consequence of all the times he had said the wrong thing on purpose.

 _Sniff_!

Draco remembered that Astoria’s roommates weren’t inclined to take her in at the moment. It was probably because she wanted to come see him. He took it as a compliment that her decision to talk to him had left her on her own in the corridor at the top of the girls’ stairs. If Draco could hear her, that meant she would hear him. He walked to the stairs.

“Astoria.”

The sniffling slowly diminished. She came back to the common room without a word, already looking Draco square in the eye and expecting him to talk.

“That was, er… That was a lie. Of course, it was partially true, but... it was somewhat a lie.”

He was really in a predicament once he was facing her, once he had brought her back. He glanced back at his seat, considering the ridiculous decision he had made there that had brought him over to the stairs. He turned back, hoping that Astoria would say something first –– something nice, though, like when she told him she cared about him. But she said nothing with words. She stepped down and hugged him.

For a moment, Draco was quite full of himself, as she was the second girl to hug him in less than twelve hours. But he knew exactly who was hugging him, and the act gained much more meaning. This was the girl who had always stuck her nose up at him. This was Astoria Greengrass, probably one of the worst blood-traitors there was, embracing someone whose father was a Death Eater because she, at last, considered that someone her friend. She had plenty of closer, better friends, but for the night, she subtracted herself from them to help the one who needed her most. She must have known that Draco’s closer friends weren’t that much closer at all.

Draco never imagined that he would get so physically close to Astoria. He had thought the same thing when they were doing the favour of dancing with each other over Christmas. This was even closer. If Blaise saw Draco dance with Astoria at Christmas, he would have shaken his head disgustedly, but if he saw Draco allowing her to embrace him like this, he never would speak to Draco again. Draco remembered how offended the Greengrasses were at Christmas when he danced with Astoria. He remembered how he felt like he had swallowed a rock when Astoria told him she didn’t care what her family thought of it. He couldn’t imagine a world in which he wouldn’t care what his family thought. If that world _did_ exist somewhere, it existed here. It existed right here with Astoria’s arms over his shoulders.

She let go. They decided it was best not to dwell on that.

“I don’t know what to say to my mother,” Draco forced out of his dry mouth. “I don’t know what to say for the life of me, and she’s probably falling apart right now, and––”

“I’ll help,” Astoria said gently.

She walked back to the desk, so Draco followed her. Her eyes stared at his inkwell and quill until he understood to get them ready.

“Dear Mother,” Astoria said once she saw that the parchment was entirely empty.

“Big help,” Draco said.

“Are you open when you speak with your mother?” Astoria asked peculiarly.

“…I guess?”

“Then, you should feel free to say something like, ‘This report is very painful for me, though I am sure it has devastated you. I regret that I cannot be with you right now; we should be taking this news together.’”

That would work perfectly. Draco attempted to copy it word-for-word.

“So, erm, you could say that you wish you knew a way to help her. Let her know you will be home next week.”

“All right… She already knows I’ll be home next week.”

“She’s your mother; she needs to know it again,” Astoria said sagaciously.

Draco let his mother know again.

“You intend to write to your father, correct?”

An emotional pang.

“…Yes,” Draco said. “I haven’t thought of how to write that, either, honestly. I think I’d better write to him along with Mother.”

“Then tell her so.”

“Tell her so?”

“Tell her you want to write to your father with her once you get home.”

“All right.”

“She’s probably going to see him before you do,” Astoria said hesitantly. “So tell her that if she sees him, you want her to tell him you love him. He needs to hear that more than anything.”

“Right, right,” Draco nodded and continued writing.

“And tell her that you love her.”

“Just did.”

“Sign your name.”

“That’s it?”

“Do you think any more is appropriate?”

Draco read the letter. Astoria was right; this was probably enough. By the time his mother would get it, there would only be a few days until his arrival. It would make more sense to talk to his mother instead of writing a longer letter. Draco folded the parchment and, by instinct, wrote “INSPECTED AND PASSED –– D.M.” on it.

“Umbridge is in the Hospital Wing,” Astoria said, “and you are a Prefect and member of her squadron. Use that power to go to the Owlery, and send that letter tonight. Your mother has already spent one whole day without one, and she must have written the letter to you at a ridiculous hour last night.”

“Come with me,” Draco said, leaving his seat.

“Come with you?”

She followed when Draco left the common room. Though neither of them said anything for the whole trip, he did not regret his request. Astoria watched his owl fly away with him from the parapet, looked at the sky, and sighed when she saw it was cloudy. Draco took the lantern she was carrying from her hands only to shine it in her face and watch her squint. She tried to take it back from him, and he wouldn’t let her. When they passed the second floor, Draco looked back and forth with suspicion to try to make her nervous. It didn’t work. The very last flight of stairs changed on them, and they had to go through a first-floor corridor to reach the stairs to the Entrance Hall. Draco started walking faster, and Astoria did the same. By the time they reached the Entrance Hall, they were running. Astoria suppressed a smile when she realised they had run only for the hell of it. When they came back to the common room, and the adrenaline of sneaking about died, they weren’t sure what to make of themselves. The reality of his father’s arrest came back to Draco. Reality in general came back to Draco. He and Astoria sat at the table where they had studied with Theodore. He started talking because she had told him she would listen.

“I don’t understand how you’re best friends with Clarke, and yet you’ve just written a letter of comfort to my mother after my father… was arrested for, you know…” Draco said, trying to pry the answer out of Astoria. “I don’t understand how you talk to Clarke and then talk to me. Does it make sense to you? Is it logical to you? Is it… Is it just _natural_ or something for you?”

“It must make enough sense to me, Draco; I’ve been extradited from my dormitory to you. I won’t pretend that it’s easy to have two friends who abhor each other. Despite what either of you may think, I don’t consider it paradoxical to be friends with both of you any longer. I thought about it plenty. I thought that as you were becoming a man, you were realising that the idea of blood supremacism is too immature for you. I found it easier to talk to you this year because of that… It didn’t feel wrong to me because you hadn’t made it feel wrong.”

That little speech had nearly left Draco’s mind exhausted.

“That was why I was so upset when you laughed about the M-word, remember?”

He remembered.

“Erm, the thing is, I had a chat with Theodore… And, well.”

Astoria’s voice was cracking and becoming softer as though it was an extinguishing candle.

“What’d Theodore tell you?” Draco lit the flame again.

“He told me you were worried about me because I am friends with Rhiannon, and You-Know-Who… well…”

“I am worried about you,” Draco verified. He did not want to bring up this other stressor at the moment, but it seemed there was no escaping it.

“You think I ought to abandon my friend still,” Astoria said. “You told me last year.”

“I do think that, but I didn’t bother to tell you again because I’m not stupid enough to think that you’ll take my advice. Clearly, you care about your friends if you care about me.”

“What bothers me is that you call it ‘advice.’ You must understand that one doesn’t give up a best friend like she means nothing.”

“I get it. I don’t have to like it,” Draco retorted.

“I don’t have to like how you would put Rhiannon in danger in exchange for me,” Astoria returned. “I don’t have to like the feeling I get when I think you measure my value based on my money and blood.”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to talk to you!” Draco snorted. “Did you forget my father’s going to prison, and I’ve got more things to worry about than your yelling at me? Isn’t it clear to you that I don’t value you based on that now?”

“‘ _Now_?’ It’s been more of a comforting daydream, honestly,” Astoria blubbered. “I’ve _never_ valued you based on those things.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Draco said, his voice still angry from the residue of the clash.

 _That_ ’ _s why you stand apart_.

Vince and Greg liked the feeling that they were important when they were with him. When they weren’t with Draco, nobody regarded them. Draco’s purpose to them was to embody power. Blaise was so anal that he did not have very many people to speak to. That was hard for him considering that he had an inclination toward extraversion. Draco, at least, was near his level. Draco’s purpose to Blaise was to be an ear. The Quidditch team wanted Draco’s flying skill. Draco’s purpose was to win the game, though he felt like he rarely did.

Pansy adored Draco. That was undeniable. But why did she adore him? She liked his money, she liked his influence, she liked his looks, and she loved his snogging. Draco had to admit those were all very good qualities of his. In fact, he never noticed there was a problem with any of these people until someone came round who did not like him for any of these reasons.

Astoria had money; her family was powerful; she was even a prevailing figure in the House of Slytherin in her own goofy right. She was pure-blood, and she didn’t care. So the question remained.

“What do you value about me, then?” Draco challenged.

The fact that it wasn’t a challenge for Astoria caught him off-guard.

“You’ve a great sense of humour –– that is, when your humour is actually humour and not hostile, not like the stuff your cronies laugh at. You’re one of the most intelligent people in your year, so your conversation isn’t dull. Anyway… you’ve shown that you’re willing to help me when I ask, whether it’s with casting Charms or with Potions homework. You help me when I don’t ask, like when you picked me up after Parkinson tripped me that first day, or when you informed that journalist about my band last year, or when you helped me at Christmas. You know, Draco, you were a real hero at Christmas… Er… I don’t know. I usually enjoy being round you. See, that’s another thing; I can say ‘usually’ now, can’t I?”

“No one’s stopping you,” Draco smirked.

“The point is that _you_ aren’t stopping me,” Astoria said.

The truth that Astoria did not know was that the nature of their first encounter was nothing she should praise him for. She was introduced to him as Daphne’s sister –– a Greengrass. Draco’s connections with Daphne were very weak; Daphne had distaste for him ever since Pansy started paying more attention to him than to her. A new Greengrass meant a new opportunity to ingratiate himself to a member of, arguably, the most powerful Wizarding family in England. He had helped Astoria that first day to make himself look good, to make the name of Malfoy mean something to a Greengrass. Instead, they clashed immediately. He would have to try again.

That young Greengrass had needed a date for the Yule Ball, and he had pondered being that date. If he went with Pansy, no one would be surprised. No one would find that respectable. But a Greengrass on the arm at that dance would have been like a crown on the head. A Beauxbatons student took that crown. He was only able to wear one temporarily when he danced with a desperate Daphne by Pansy’s suggestion.

The article about Pariah was a ditch effort. He had been acknowledged as a friend by the young Greengrass, but it was not a public announcement. With their clashing beliefs, Draco would not be able to brag about his connections with a Greengrass; he hardly had any. So he connected his name publicly with hers in an article about her band which he had had Skeeter write. It did not matter if Astoria did not like him; there were their names connected in a newspaper publication. Success. Or so he had thought.

That same night he saw the dead body of a seventeen-year-old being brought back from the hands of the Dark Lord. Draco did not know Cedric Diggory, and since he was a friend of Potter’s, it was hard to think of him with regards, but others certainly did. Cedric was a good kid according to most people. Cedric was their friend. He was their dead friend.

When he had seen Cedric’s body, Draco remembered that Astoria was in a nearly empty castle spending her time with Slytherin’s Blot. The reality of the Dark Lord was cold and glassy-eyed, a teenager named Cedric lying lifeless in the dew-dappled grass. The reality of the Dark Lord was murder, and Draco imagined that the Dark Lord would take great pride in murdering a member of such a powerful, blood-traitorous family, for the Dark Lord would not have anyone be greater than he, and he would not have stains in the House of Slytherin.

If that was Astoria getting her cold eyelids closed with a warmer hand, if those were Astoria’s lips turning grey, if that was Astoria who had been killed by the Dark Lord, Draco would have lost the only person whose smiles at him were real. Each time Astoria talked to Draco, he was reminded that she had everything already and was not looking for the same things in him that he was looking for in her. She was looking for the person who had grabbed her hand on the train. That person wasn’t real until Draco decided that he ought to be.

Showing off the fact that he was dancing with a Greengrass at the Christmas banquet was not nearly as great as Draco thought it would be. Sure, he made his parents happy, but the events surrounding that unlikely dance made everything about Astoria’s “image” and “influence” fade. She was not so much a Greengrass then as she was a girl whose boyfriend left her because he was only seeking the idea of her. Draco did not want to seek the idea of her anymore; he sought the friend he knew she was. He wanted there to be reasons why she had called him a gentleman that night. What she called a “gentleman” that night, she called a “hero” this night, and what he had called a “Greengrass” last year, he called a “good friend” now. Who knew what they could call each other next…

“I suppose you think it’s your turn,” Draco accused, trying to hide with a caustic voice that futile, warm feeling he had just buried in his chest.

“My turn?”

“You aren’t fake. You’re true to yourself,” Draco pronounced. “You’re clever –– _crafty_ and ornery, actually. But you’re still respectable; you know what you’re doing in life. And those girls in your band don’t give you enough credit for your talent with the piano. I like your compositions, believe it or not. I’d cut them out and keep you.”

Astoria was blushing wildly.

“Oh, Draco, I don’t… I didn’t come down here looking for compliments…”

“That’s another thing,” Draco said. “You came down here for me. I remember Pansy telling you that you should be in Hufflepuff as an insult. You’re too mordant for that, and you’re too pig-headed. But if _I_ told you that you could pass for a Hufflepuff, it’s because you’re a loyal friend even at a time like this, even to me. You know, Astoria, I’d cut plenty of fake people out of this school and just keep you.”

Draco didn’t think it was possible to get her to blush any more, and if he wasn’t careful, his face would match hers. Watching her shift in her seat at his words was a good distraction from the calamity in his head. Astoria had managed to soothe some of it already, and that was what he needed most.


	21. The Station

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 21 - "On the Train Ride Home" by The Paper Kites

You-Know-Who didn’t make the news until the Sunday after Pariah had recorded their new album, which Rhiannon had titled _Fylth_. The recording had been rough and time-consuming, since all of the girls were preoccupied. By the end of the session, Rhiannon hardly even cared about hearing Mr Davis estimate the release date. It was all marketing guff.

The _Daily_ _Prophet_ had published Harry Potter’s original _Quibbler_ interview as if to validate it. It praised Harry and Dumbledore, and, to the best of its legal ability, criticised the Ministry. There were things Rhiannon already knew by that Sunday, like the conviction of the Death Eaters, the return of Professor Dumbledore to the school, and the return of You-Know-Who to the world. There were some things, however, that Rhiannon hadn’t known until she read the _Prophet_ , like the insurrection of all of the Azkaban dementors and the death of the innocent Sirius Black.

Though final exams were over, Rhiannon would be visiting class with Professors Trelawney and Hagrid present once more. It seemed silly to her that the students weren’t simply shipped home after exams; they had to show up to all of their classes except far-flung Astronomy. Professor Sinistra, therefore, had been placed as a substitute for the hospitalised Umbridge, and as Rhiannon’s schedule dictated, she would be facing Sinistra on Monday afternoon, the twenty-fourth of June, which had been a Saturday the previous year. Nobody would have really understood the significance.

Professor Sinistra and Rhiannon decided to clear out Umbridge’s office. Astoria, whom Rhiannon couldn’t hold a grudge against for drying Draco’s self-pitying tears, came to help. Then came Hestia and Flora, then Montel Davis and Curtis Evercreech, then Manami Ichijō and Alexa Crover. Most people, it turned out, really wanted to have the opportunity to put something of Umbridge’s in a box, apart from the ten-or-so sourpusses in the back of the room. And nobody stopped Sinistra and the cluster of Slytherin fourth-years when they put all of Umbridge’s boxes in the Entrance Hall.

“I think that was a very valuable lesson in Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Professor Sinistra said once they returned to the classroom.

“Best one all year,” Montel agreed.

“Rhiannon, Astoria, I meant to speak with you about your library passes…” Professor Sinistra said, summoning the pair to the desolate office.

She stepped to the side but left the door open, and when Astoria tried to close it, the professor stopped her with an urgent wave of the hand.

“I put a weak Imperturbable Charm over this room before class started. They can come in, but if they are outside, they cannot hear us. I ask that you step toward me so they cannot read your lips.”

“Yes, Professor,” Astoria said.

Rhiannon acquiesced.

“I want you two to learn the Patronus Charm as soon as possible.”

 _What a day to say this_.

Professor Sinistra squirmed.

“Those things have broken loose,” Sinistra reiterated the _Prophet_. “When you come back to school, I want you to start practising Patronuses straightaway. You are in contact with Professor Lupin, Rhiannon; he knows plenty about them, so write to him for help. You may practise them wherever you wish, since they have no effect on solid matter. I will renew your pass to my library, Rhiannon, and Astoria, as a N.E.W.T. student, will naturally have one, but I ask that you no longer practise D.A.D.A. in there. The room is outgrowing your spells, and it’s making me nervous for my books.”

From Astoria, “Yes, Professor.”

Sinistra stopped talking, but neither of the girls felt like they should leave. It was all over her face that she was trying to prepare her words.

“War…” she said, doubted herself, and then began again. “War tears people apart. Easily. It can tear –– _ah_ –– erm, separate… people –– _friends_ –– easily. Don’t let it.”

Astoria and Rhiannon looked at each other. All of their disagreements throughout the year were flashing in Rhiannon’s mind. But no war could divide them as long as they made no war between themselves. So far, they had been able to overcome all of their problems. Rhiannon was actually insulted that Sinistra would suspect them to be able to split so easily; perhaps she sensed from their behaviour that they had had a recent row, a row when Astoria wanted to try to comfort Malfoy.

“We won’t,” Rhiannon said.

“We certainly won’t,” Astoria followed.

Sinistra gave each of them a good, long stare, and then motioned for them to leave. Astoria was back in the classroom and Rhiannon’s foot was out the door when the professor’s voice sounded through a cough.

“It was right there.”

She looked up at Rhiannon as she pointed to an empty spot on the floor.

~

Rhiannon, Astoria, Hestia, and Flora hurried onto the train on Friday to score a private compartment. It was in that private compartment that Flora discovered after much prying that Astoria had only had five hours of sleep the day they recorded _Fylth_. Rhiannon could only partially blame herself; though she had fought with Astoria about her desire to comfort Malfoy and sent her stomping out of the room, it was Astoria who decided to stay out until three in the morning.

“Were you with Malfoy the whole time‽” Flora gasped.

“Of course I wasn’t with Malfoy the whole time!” Astoria protested. “I tried to sleep on the couch, and it didn’t work at all!”

“Was Malfoy on that couch too?” Hestia laughed maniacally.

“You’re absurd,” Astoria groaned and violently bit into a Chocolate Frog.

“Did anybody hear when Mr Davis said the album would be released?” Rhiannon finally asked.

“Next Friday,” Flora said.

“Bollocks!”

“It really is next Friday,” Hestia said. “Remember, Rhi, our music industry is as magical as we are.”

“But when’s the promotion? When’s Mongaby gonna take care of the promotion?” Rhiannon squawked.

“It’ll be in the _Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ ,” Hestia said smoothly. “I’m excited for it.”

“You were the only one fully awake during recording,” Flora said to her sister.

“We sounded splendid,” Hestia reported. “In the final mix, that is… Anyway, I’m really excited that we have our own bank accounts now. It’s been lovely getting money that _stays_ my money.”

“For sure,” Rhiannon said.

That trip to King’s Cross was the best Rhiannon had ever had; it was full of food and friends and conversation. Rhiannon’s two biggest worries –– You-Know-Who and living with the Greengrasses –– were pushed to the back of her mind. Tracey and Montel squeezed into the compartment about halfway through the journey, and Rhiannon told them all about the upcoming record. But the best part was at the end; Rhiannon looked out the window and saw Professor Lupin standing right there in the station.

“I need to –– I’ve gotta –– I’ll be with you in a bit!” Rhiannon spluttered as she Shrunk her luggage to fit into her pocket and tried to climb over Hestia and Montel’s knees.

Rhiannon remembered that nobody knew she was going home with Astoria.

“I mean, I’ll say goodbye in a bit! I mean…”

“Settle down; it doesn’t look like Lupin’s in any hurry,” Flora said.

In a slow, orderly fashion, everyone in Rhiannon’s compartment waddled out and started hopping down the steps to the platform.

“Bye, Hestia! Bye, Flora!” Rhiannon waved as they stepped into the crowd outside.

“Bye, Rhi! Montel’s and my luggage is still in the other compartment!” Tracey said, trying to fight against the forming tidal wave of outpouring students.

“Bye, Tracey! Montel!” Rhiannon waved as she got off the train and tried to figure out where she had seen Professor Lupin in the throng. The Greengrasses would wait for her; they’d have to. Besides, Tracey had just hopped down from the train _screaming_ and sent her younger brother and Astoria back up to investigate whatever the problem with the luggage was. Given Tracey’s fright, Rhiannon guessed Astoria would be a while.

What naturally caught Rhiannon’s eye was a mass of six bright red Weasley heads, and those Weasley heads put her on quite an easy path to Professor Lupin. She efficiently moved through the crawling people, hoping that the professor wouldn’t have to leave too soon. The year had been viciously marked with his absence more than Rhiannon’s third year; for Professor Lupin’s safety from Umbridge’s snooping, Rhiannon had only written to him at Christmas. It felt like Rhiannon had been steadily losing Professor Lupin ever since he told her he was leaving Hogwarts at the end of her second year. Professor Lupin was facing the other way; he was watching Harry Potter leave the station.

“Who do we have here?”

Rhiannon stopped walking. Two people collided with her and complained that she should “watch it.” She hardly had time to work out the voice she was hearing before she was looking into one beady eye and watching a massive one revolve. Alastor Moody lowered a dirty bowler hat over his glass eye both to cover it and to give an old-fashioned greeting to Rhiannon, who felt like she had been placed under a Full Body-Bind Curse.

“Hello, sir,” she mouthed; she might have even said it.

She would not hear her name in reply from the stranger, no matter how familiar his old, scarred face was. The wizard she missed was both evil and dead.

“Visitor for you, Lupin,” said Mr Moody before excusing himself to speak to the Weasleys.

There was Professor Lupin, sporting a worn, fuzzy jumper and a discoloured coat that was too warm for the weather. He nearly matched Rhiannon except his jumper was red and hers was a dingy white. The man looked like he had not slept in days, but his eyes lit up when he saw that company had sought him.

“Rhiannon,” he said nicely, “I haven’t spoken with you since Christmas. How has everything been?”

“Bit rough,” Rhiannon admitted. “Everything with you?”

“Quite rough,” Professor Lupin said, heaving a distressed sigh.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Well,” he inhaled. “Life… is life.”

“Yeah…”

Life had not been kind to either of them.

“Umbridge is gone,” Rhiannon brought up.

“Then you should have no more trouble with keeping me updated,” Professor Lupin said, his expression relaxing.

“Right!” Rhiannon said. “Erm, Professor Sinistra wanted me to learn how to cast a Patronus Charm…”

“I will be happy to help you,” Professor Lupin said. “The guides in the _Daily Prophet_ , I’m sorry to say, are barely any good at all. Now, remember that Patronuses are extremely difficult to achieve. Wise wizards and witches who simply cannot cast them are not uncommon. That is not to say that I don’t believe in you, Rhiannon; I want you to learn how to cast one as much as Professor Sinistra wants. I merely do not want you to become discouraged or frustrated if it doesn’t work immediately.”

“I understand, Professor,” Rhiannon said. “Thank you so much.”

“Are you going back to your… Jessica?” he asked concernedly.

“No, sir,” Rhiannon answered.

She trusted Professor Lupin more than anyone else.

“I’m moving in with the Greengrasses,” Rhiannon said quietly.

She was nevertheless overheard. A pretty woman with short, pink hair, almost as wild as Hestia’s, had finished a conversation with the Weasleys and walked up behind Rhiannon.

“Did you say something about the Greengrasses? I know them! I was at their place for their Vernal Feast this spring. It was wild.”

The woman shook Rhiannon’s hand.

“You’re Rhiannon Clarke!” she informed her.

“Er… hello,” Rhiannon said, hoping that nobody was staring. The stranger wore patched up, baggy jeans and a Weird Sisters top. Rhiannon was considering licensing Pariah for merchandising when the woman said, “I’m Tonks.”

“I’m Rhiannon.”

 _Oh_ , _piss_.

Tonks laughed.

Rhiannon had heard the Greengrasses talking about a Mrs Tonks visiting over the Christmas holiday. Rhiannon had been sulking in her room at the time of the visit but would remember not to do that again if any Tonkses were due to arrive at the estate.

“Do you have plans for another album?” Tonks asked.

“We’re releasing our second next weekend,” Rhiannon said.

“Can’t wait.”

Rhiannon guessed that Tonks was the same woman who had looked so ancient at the beginning of the year and gave Rhiannon the “rock on” sign. Professor Lupin, Tonks, and Rhiannon had started chatting about the O.W.L.s Rhiannon would take next year; she was having a grand time.

“Do you mind if I steal her?”

A sweet voice with a French accent meant that Mrs Ciel-Greengrass was going to take Rhiannon away. As Tonks and Astoria’s mother were greeting each other warmly, Rhiannon and Professor Lupin were saying goodbye. She gave him a big hug when he told her to be careful, and Daphne Greengrass rolled her eyes at her until she saw Mr Moody approaching again with the much more impressive rolling eye of his own. Rhiannon waved goodbye to Professor Lupin, Tonks, and even the clueless Moody as a variety of tears welled in her eyes.

“We can’t find Astoria,” Daphne said coldly, seemingly newly aware of Rhiannon’s tenancy.

“Do you know where she is, Rhiannon?” Mrs Ciel-Greengrass asked Rhiannon, still trying to hide her swelling concern.

Rhiannon remembered Astoria and Montel getting back on the train when Tracey had leapt out screaming. She had thought little of it then; what was the worst that could happen on the train? But then Rhiannon remembered when Professor Lupin had come to the students’ rescue in her second year when a dementor had boarded the Hogwarts Express.

She dashed toward the train without another thought.


	22. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated. The next book in the series is available [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250760/chapters/55675303)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 22 - "Vertigo" by Kisnou (ft. Amethyst)

If Astoria had not practised counter-curses so assiduously over the year, the situation would have been hopeless. There she was again, lingering on a nearly empty train, trying her best to help Draco Malfoy, who had somehow been turned into a massive slug along with Crabbe and Goyle. At first she believed she was unable to change them back to normal due to her gaucherie in the art of Transfiguration, but Montel had tried and failed as well, so the two determined that the boys had been badly hexed again. Astoria imagined that the moment Draco became human once more, he would spit “Potter!” regardless of whether this mess had been Harry Potter’s doing or not. Astoria was less disposed to help Crabbe and Goyle but did not stop Montel whenever his conscience got the better of him.

First, Draco regained his normal skin tone, which actually made the slug appearance far worse. Then, Astoria messed up a counter-hex and made him grow hair all over. When she corrected the mistake, he became spotted. Ignoring the spots, she tried another counter-hex that made him shrink to actual slug size. It was exhausting her, and she considered for a moment simply retrieving his mother as she had done last year. Once she imagined Mrs Malfoy being forced to face her son in this state, though, Astoria persisted. Draco was human size again and had sprouted arms. It was the perfect time for Parkinson to walk in and see her boyfriend; she screamed louder than Tracey had and thoughtlessly ran outside to get the strained Mrs Malfoy. Montel managed to get a face back on the underside of Goyle when Theodore Nott arrived. Astoria, Montel, and Theodore worked quickly but not carelessly, and the other three were back to normal by the time Mrs Malfoy and Parkinson boarded the train.

Parkinson made the colossal mistake of embracing her newly-recovered Draco before his mother could. Mrs Malfoy wore a look as though the utmost sin had been committed against her, and Parkinson scurried off to the side. Draco started yelling all the names of the attackers whilst Crabbe discovered that Montel had left the slimy antennae on his head. Astoria whispered her thanks to Montel as he sneaked off the train and left with his family. Parkinson now stared at Mrs Malfoy as though _she_ was unfairly hogging Draco. Astoria saw her sister, mother, and Rhiannon approaching outside the window, waved to them that everything was okay, and tried to creep away from the scene.

“Astoria –– thank you,” Draco said loudly before she could touch the handrail.

Astoria’s mother was peeking through the door. Draco and Goyle thanked Theodore and Parkinson, but when Crabbe asked Theodore to get rid of the antennae, Theodore claimed he didn’t know how.

“You’re welcome,” Astoria said.

Rhiannon was restless; her arms were outspread questioningly. Astoria knew she would be asked any moment why she had wasted her time on Malfoy when she could have been meeting Professor Lupin. Mrs Malfoy saw Astoria’s mother outside and began blinking her eyes rapidly. The women said nothing to each other, and it made Astoria uncomfortable.

“Have a nice holiday,” Draco said gracefully, as though he had not been a revolting, slimy invertebrate only minutes before.

“You as well, Draco,” Astoria said.

She did not know how greatly in vain her simple wish would be.


End file.
